Wrong Place, Wrong Time
by Devikins
Summary: When Gwen is mistaken by the Italian mob for the mysterious Sophia, she is forced to turn to the Saints for protection. But can she come to terms with what they do? Strong language and all that jazz. Some romance for spice. Yay!
1. Chapter 1

"Hey Tom, I'm heading out for the night. Ya need me for anything?" The question was shouted over her shoulder as Gwen pulled her long, lime green coat on over her work shirt and jeans- she had changed out of the short plaid skirt that made up the bottom half of the uniform. The portly, balding man wiping down the bar glanced up and shook his head, lifting a hand in goodbye before going back to his duty. Gwen had worked at the Taproom for almost a year now, and she and Tom always seemed to get stuck with the late night shifts together. It was good, though; they got along well. Waving back at him, Gwen popped the collar of her coat and pulled a thick scarf around her neck, nestling down as far as possible; it was cold and wet outside, and she wasn't looking forward to the walk home.

Opening the door, Gwen slipped outside and shivered against the sharp breeze that gusted past her, stuffing her hands into the pockets of her coat and trying to snuggle up. She was on one of the quainter, older streets of Boston, and it was a good ten minute walk to her little apartment a couple blocks over. She could have taken a cab home, but that was money she'd rather not spend.

So she just did her best to ignore the biting cold and started off down the street, humming a tune to herself as she did a bit of a skip dance into the small alley a couple of doors down from the Taproom. It was a bit of a shady shortcut, but the bleak possibilities of what happened down dark alleys barely touched her mind. It was ten 'til three, and Gwen wanted to get home and sleep. She'd probably even skip the shower tonight, even though that meant waking up to a pillow that reeked of cigarette smoke. At least she had off all day tomorrow, giving her plenty of time to do much needed laundry AND take a shower, without the risk of passing out from exhaustion.

Pulling the electric green cell phone out of her coat pocket, Gwen flipped it open to check her three missed calls: one was from her best friend, Alison, and the other two were from her mother. Big surprise there. And she'd bet ten to one that the voicemail left on her phone was from her mother as well. The woman just couldn't get over her only daughter working at a pub when she had a perfectly good English degree. Well, Gwen refused to be influenced, which was why she had moved out as soon as she had finished college. As much as she loved her mother, Gwen hated being pushed. She had been pushed to go to all of those damn prep-schools, pushed into going to the most prestigious university possible, pushed into an internship Gwen had walked out of after she realized sitting in an office all day would drive her nuts.

No, her mom would not push her into a career Gwen didn't want. It annoyed Gwen to no end that she couldn't figure out just what she was destined to do, but she knew she was destined to do something great. Sitting in an office was not great. And so Gwen had left her mother back in good old upstate New York in the expensive loft apartment she had won in the divorce from Gwen's father almost thirteen years ago.

The voicemail was typical. I love you, hope you're well, call me back. Gwen smiled, but rolled her eyes. She'd call her back in the morning. The last thing she wanted to do was wake her mom up in the early hours of the morning to tell her she was walking home through a dark alley after just getting off work at the pub. Right, she'd save that conversation for the apocalypse. But in her defense, she had a trusty bottle of pepper spray in her pocket; Gwen wasn't about to run around completely unarmed. Shaking her head a bit, Gwen stuffed her phone into her purse and picked up the pace, bouncing slightly to try and keep warm.

Sliding her hand into her coat pocket, Gwen pulled out a battered box of cigarettes and a lighter, shifting the pepper spray aside. There was only one left- good, she needed to get rid of the box. Gwen didn't exactly consider herself a smoker; she smoked, yes, but she wasn't a smoker. It took her an entire week, often more, to get through a whole pack if she bought it herself, but more times than not she'd pick up the half empty boxes patrons left at work.

She tossed the box away in the last dumpster before getting back to the main street. Cupping a hand against the wind, Gwen lit the cigarette, took a few puffs on it and slid the lighter back into her pocket. She glanced both ways before crossing the street, jogging slightly to get across before traffic caught up with her.

She took another drag, feeling completely content at the moment, and vaguely remembered someone telling her once that it was more the deep breathing that calmed smokers than the nicotine. A smile played around her lips as she entered her second alley, running her free hand through her blonde hair that she had pulled out of her face with a small clip; what would her mother think if she knew her daughter was smoking?

Gwen didn't have much time to think of it. Halfway down the alley was a small intersection- a narrower path crossing the bigger one. From it Gwen could here voices floating on the wind. They caused her to freeze, cigarette raised halfway to her mouth. Twisting the half-smoked cigarette against the wall of a building, Gwen stepped forward cautiously, her hand reaching into her pocket and fumbling around trying to locate the pepper spray. By now she could here them clearly. The conversation wasn't even in English- Italian, maybe? Whatever language it was, it made Gwen feel uneasy; she needed to get out of the alley and she needed to do it fast. Stories about the Italian mob flitted through her mind- stories about the rising conflict between two main families: the Andretti's who had risen quickly after the public murder of Papa Joe and the Yakavetta's who had been thrown into disarray after getting picked off by those so-called "Saints." She kept up with the media and news, and it didn't take a genius to figure out that hushed voices in a dark alley weren't a good sign.

Heart-pounding so hard she was sure it was echoing off the alley walls, Gwen backed up quietly, not wanting to hear any more of the muffled Italian voices and planning to just slip back the way she came. She turned to go and found herself face to face with a hefty Italian man leering down at her. Everything seemed to freeze in an instant, even her breathing.

_Oh God._

Gwen dropped her purse and fumbled for the pepper spray in her pocket, fingers desperately trying to work around the lighter. Something hard came down on the back of her head, sending stars exploding in front of her vision as she reeled forward, stumbling into the man in front of her. He hoisted her up over his shoulder and carried her towards the intersection. Gwen struggled to remain conscious, her brain screaming at her arms and legs to move, but she felt paralyzed, her vision wavering in front of her eyes; she could swear her head had been split open.

_Oh God! Oh God! Oh God!_

The chant repeated itself over and over in her mind as the voices grew louder; the man carrying her spoke and then she felt herself shifting positions, something that made the entire world spin. A bag was placed over her head and the sudden blackness closed in around her; she felt like she was suffocating. Gwen gasped for air, her head spinning as the blackness bore down upon her, and she felt herself slip from reality and begin the long descent into the unconscious.

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Gwen awoke with her head throbbing. She couldn't tell if it was about to explode or cave in on itself, but the pain was unimaginable. But at least she was alive. Alive and barely aware of what had happened last. The alley. The voices. The knock to the back of her head. Vague images and experiences flickered through her brain as she tried thinking backwards.

Peeling her eyelids open, Gwen realized she was tied securely to a chair in the middle of a very nice hotel room. There were only a handful of men standing around a few feet away from her, arguing in Italian. One of the men noticed her semi-conscious state, and he interrupted the rest of them with a few sharp words and a gesture her way. Gwen managed to lift her head up and stare at them blearily, her vision still hazy and the pain in her head making it hard to concentrate.

Even still she could feel the fear skate down her spine and as a handsomely attired young gentleman arrived in front of her with a chair and a cigar. Instinct alone told her this man was dangerous, and she felt herself wanting to recoil from his presence. He flashed a brilliant smile that did nothing to soothe her nerves as he calmly clipped off the end of the cigar and put it to his lips; one of the other men lit it for him.

"You must excuse the pig behavior of my men. They weren't supposed to harm you," he began, his voice heavy with an Italian accent.

Gwen furrowed her brow, a frown pulling her lips downwards. "What?" It was the only thing she managed to get out, the one out of about five billion questions floating through her mind.

The man laughed, a sound that had none of its typical warmth. "I am Marco Andretti, and I believe you have something to give me." He leaned back against the chair, a smug smile curling at his lips as he puffed on the cigar. Gwen blinked, her mind sluggishly processing things.

"Who?" The name rang a distant bell, but the pounding inside her head was very distracting. Her question seemed to surprise the man, his eyebrows lifting up and his puffs on the cigar becoming a bit more frequent.

"Where is the package?" he asked after a moment of tense silence. The question threw Gwen completely off guard.

"What?"

"Sophia…" the smile that spread across his face was alarming enough to keep Gwen from correcting him on her name. "How hard did my men hit you?" He laughed again, though this time it was more forced and there was a definite edge to it that made Gwen instinctively tense. "The package, Sophia. I need it now."

"I don't have a package. And my name isn't Sophia, it's… Sara." The lie felt shaky on her lips, but it wasn't until the word "it's" was out that Gwen realized she didn't want to give them her name. Sara had been the first thing that popped into her mind.

Marco Andretti's smile faded, his features turning serious. He took one long puff on the cigar, tapping off ashes into a nearby tray and then exhaled a large amount of smoke, slowly, into her face. "This is no time for games, Sophia. You've been promising to unite our families for almost a year now, since Papa Joe. You promised that if we let you in, you could give us invaluable information. I would think someone who cherished their life wouldn't be so hasty to go back on their word."

Gwen felt the icy cold wash over her entire body. "I told you, I'm not Sophia. I swear, you must have mistaken me for someone else, I'm just-"

"SILENCE!"

The word rang out harshly accompanied by a loud bang as Marco's fist came slamming down onto the coffee table, causing Gwen to jump which only increased the throbbing between her temples. She was sure her eyes would explode any minute and that there must be a knife located somewhere in the back of her skull.

"Where is it?!"

"I swear I don't know what you're talking about!!!" Her voice was edgy, panicked, and near hysterical. She could feel hot tears pricking the back of her eyes and she realized she was shaking. Marco Andretti stood up abruptly, causing Gwen to flinch back like he might hit her. He only moved away form her, puffing frequently on the cigar and pacing while speaking in fast Italian. Gwen wondered if he was cursing.

At length he spun around sharply, pointing at the rest of the men and shouting angry commands in Italian. When finished with this, he slowly moved to stand in front of Gwen again, leaning over her with a snarl. Gwen shrunk away as much as she could.

"As for you, little Sophia, we shall see if you still want to play games when I get back."

"I swear to you I am not Sophia! I swear! Didn't you check my driver's license? Where's my purse, I can prove it!" Gwen was desperate now; she was certain they were going to chop off her fingers or something. Marco only snorted contemptuously, turning around and stalking out the door, shouting something in Italian back at his men before slamming it shut.

"We shall see if you like to play games, _Sophia_," one of the men jeered at her as the group bore down on her. Gwen shrank away.

"Please, you have the wrong person. If you could just give me my purse-"

Her weak voice was cut off by a sharp smack across her face, and she yelped, involuntarily, her eyes watering from the sting. "Please, I swear!" she tried again, trying to keep it together, trying not to cry. The next cuff across her face sent colored dots exploding before her eyes, and she gasped, letting her head hang limp. Gwen could feel tape getting stretched across her mouth, but didn't try fighting it. She just wanted to go unconscious again, maybe then they would leave her alone, maybe then the throbbing pain in her head would go away. Maybe this was all some horrific dream that-

_Knock! Knock!_

The sound made her jump- was the Marco Andretti man back already?! One of the shorter men barked for another to open the door, and after complaining loudly about it he moseyed over and turned the doorknob. Gwen couldn't see the door- her back was to it- but she heard the loud crash as it was kicked open. It was followed by a muffled whiz sort of noise and a cacophony of shouts that made her head pound unbearably. More whizzes and she felt something hot splatter across the back of her head. Before it had time to register a searing, white-hot pain tore into the top of her left shoulder followed by shouts- in heavily accented English. This unusual factor tickled Gwen's interest and she tried to grasp why this point was so important, but between the intense throbbing in her head and the burning pain making her whole left side feel like it was on fire, she found it impossible to think about anything.

She realized suddenly that everything was silent. Her head hung limply, chin resting on her chest. Her eyes were half-lidded so that she could see the shadows move in front of her, and she watched as a pair of feet came to stand in front of her.

"They've got a fucking hostage!"

She tried lifting her head to see who was talking- had the police found her maybe? But she only managed to get a glimpse of a wavering, hazy figure of a man with dark hair standing before her before her eyes rolled back, lids sliding closed and head dropping forward again.

"What?"

It was a different voice speaking, though the Irish accent was just as thick as the first one.

"A fucking hostage! A woman!"

The voices were growing distant, but she could still hear the shuffle of feet as another person came to stand in front of her.

"Fuck me…" the new one muttered under his breath. "Da! Da, they've got a hostage!"

The word hostage melted into silence as Gwen gave up on consciousness, the blissfully painless black world swallowing her up for the second time.

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"Well what the fuck do we do with her, then?"

Connor shrugged in response to his brother's question, turning his eyes from the unconscious woman in front of him to the elderly man who had just joined his sons. "Da?"

"Well we can't leave her here tied up," he pointed out reasonably, the expression on his face making it clear he was working out a solution.

"What are we supposed to do then? Drop her off on the side of some fucking street?" Murphy asked sarcastically.

"We could call the cops," Connor suggested. "Or call Smecker. He could do something."

"That's an idea," Da said with a slow nod.

"Ah, fuck." Murphy ran a hand over his face, and Connor glanced at him.

"What?"

"Shit! Fucking shit!" Leaning back, Murphy turned in a full circle, seeming to not know what else to do with his angry energy. "I fuckin' shot her!" he shouted, looking furious.

"What?!" Connor's expression was one of total shock.

"I fucking shot her! Look!" Murphy pointed to her left shoulder where blood had already soaked through the shirt and was beginning to seep down her arm. Connor stepped forward and examined the wound. "She was right fuckin' behind that big one when I shot him! My second shot must have hit her instead! Jesus fuckin' Christ!"

"You only grazed her, calm the fuck down!"

Murphy fell silent, raising both hands and setting them on the back of his head as he stared at the unconscious woman. Da finally cleared his throat, drawing the attention of both boys over to him.

"We have to take her back with us."

"What?!" The question was uttered with identical incredulity at the exact same time by both boys.

"It's not that deep, it'll heal fine if it's treated. She's been knocked around the head a bit, though, and we can't leave her alone."

"What about Smecker?" Connor asked. Da shook his head.

"She needs this cleaned and bandaged immediately. We don't have time, and we can't risk alerting the police."

"Da's right, we can't just fuckin' call the cops in," Murphy agreed.

Connor ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "Ah, Christ."

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**((AN: So, yay for the first chappie! I have I believe eight written, but I'm trying to keep ahead just in case I get super busy with school. Soo, yeah, reviewslove, people. Think about it!))**


	2. Chapter 2

Consciousness seeped slowly back into her mind, meandering its way sluggishly through a dull pain that enveloped her entire body. She couldn't open her eyes yet, but her other senses were coming into focus; she was laying on something soft- a bed maybe? - and it was silent. Peacefully silent, though. The smell of lingering cigarette smoke and booze filled her nose, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that she wasn't in the hotel room anymore.

Slowly Gwen cracked open an eyelid, wincing as she tried to shift her position; the whole room seemed to spin. An involuntary grunt escaped her lips, and finally she gave up, just laying still and trying to get a grasp on her surroundings, as well as make the room right itself. A few more minutes passed and she opened both eyes fully, finding that the right side of her face was particularly sore. Now that she was fully awake, she realized she was actually on a couch, laying on her back, with a blanket draped over her. She was definitely not in that hotel room, and from the sound of things there was no Italian mob nearby. Was she dead, then?

The thought gave her only a brief spasm of horror before her rational mind stomped on the idea. No way could she be dead; too much feeling and consciousness. Besides, if this was heaven, God was overrated.

"Are y'alright?"

The soft voice caused Gwen to jump, sending a jolt of pain through her stiff muscles. She turned her head to the right slightly and the sight of a dark haired man sitting in a chair smoking a cigarette across the coffee table came into view. He was obviously Irish, judging by the accent, which was encouraging since it had been the Italians who'd almost killed her. Still, waking up in an unknown man's apartment with no idea as to how she got there wasn't exactly a comforting notion, which explained Gwen's continuing unease.

"I said are y'alright?"

"I-" her voice cracked somewhat, and she cleared her throat, realizing that her mouth was bone dry. Coughing somewhat, Gwen tried again. "Yes, I-" she halted, the automatic response feeling a complete lie that she couldn't shake. "Actually, no, I'm not."

The man's eyebrows raised a fraction in mild surprise.

"What happened? The Italians- I… I don't remember…" Gwen trailed off, falling sheepishly silent under the man's careful scrutiny of her face.

"You're alive, and be thankful for that," he answered, standing up suddenly and disappearing on the other side of the couch. Gwen was too exhausted to try and watch what he was doing, and instead she just laid still, breathing deep. There was the sound of the tap running and then a rattle followed by footsteps. The dark haired man reappeared on her side of the couch with a glass of water, a bottle of pain killers, and miraculously enough, her lime green coat. He reclaimed his seat, sliding the former two objects across the table towards her and holding the latter in his lap.

Gwen glanced at the offerings and then raised her eyes to her jacket before finally looking at him- he was smoking a cigarette and drinking a beer, watching her.

"It's not poisoned if that's what yer thinkin', Angel."

"Angel?" Gwen ground out through clenched teeth as she forced herself into a sitting position. The throbbing in her head multiplied by about ten, causing the whole room to spin; she had to squeeze her eyes shut and press a hand to her forehead for a moment, regaining a sense of balance.

"Are y'okay?"

She could hear mild concern in his voice, something that surprised her. Nodding very slowly and very little, Gwen removed her hand and opened her eyes, reaching out for the pill bottle and opening it up. She popped out two, took the glass of water, and without much thought downed both pills and half the glass. Sighing, Gwen set the pill bottle and the glass of water back onto the table, her hands returning to her lap where she began fidgeting.

"I believe this might belong t'ya," he said after a moment, tossing her the jacket. It landed in her lap, and she slowly picked it up, hands slipping into the pockets to find that both her pepper spray and lighter were missing. She figured as much. Setting the jacket back down in her lap, Gwen turned her attention back to the man, a strange look on her face.

"Who are you?" she asked, trying not to sound impatient or demanding, but feeling that she failed miserably.

He grinned at her, chuckling a bit as he inhaled the cigarette. "No one important, Angel."

"Why are you calling me Angel?"

The mystery man took another long drag and breathed it out slowly before nodding towards her shirt. "Yer name tag."

Gwen looked down at the faux metal bar pinned to her black work shirt with "Angelica" stamped across the front. It wasn't her name tag (obviously), but she was using it until she got her new one in. When the pub had switched to new uniforms, they all got new name tags as well. Gwen's had come back misspelled- it was impossible getting Gwenhyfar right with anything- so she had to send it back, requesting for them to just put "Gwen" on it as they should have done in the first place.

"That's not actually my name; I'm just borrowing another girl's nametag until mine comes in. I work at a pub-"

"Is that so, Angel?" he interrupted with raised eyebrows, looking amused. Gwen realized she had been rattling off pointless information.

"Gwen, my name is Gwen," she said, rubbing a hand over her eyes. It was only after she had given her name that she realized she didn't even know this man and probably shouldn't be giving him her name. Whatever, what were the odds of someone being able to track down a "Gwen" in the middle of Boston? She couldn't possibly be the only one around. "What's your name?"

"I told ya, Angel," he answered slowly, puffing away on his cigarette. "I'm no one important."

That didn't deter her onslaught of questions in the least. "Why am I here?"

He pointed to her left shoulder. "Y'got grazed by a shot." Gwen glanced down at her bloodied shirt and realized the shoulder had been cut off so that white bandages could be wrapped around it. Awesome, she'd have great fun telling Tom she needed another work shirt already. The wry thought kept her from focusing on the fact that she had gotten fucking shot, something that kind of made her feeling like hurling.

"Where are the Italians?"

She was answered with silence as he looked away carelessly, taking time to suck on the cigarette and hold the smoke it before blowing it out slowly. Only then did he turn to look at her head on. "They're dead."

"All of them?!" she asked incredulously, the pounding in her head picking up tempo again. For the second time, Gwen pressed a palm to her forehead. She saw him shrug casually, clearly not bothered by the idea. She fell silent, then, re-grouping. "Are you part of the mafia, then?" she queried quietly, almost afraid of the answer. His response was most unexpected.

He started laughing, genuinely amused and shook his head, taking a quick drag and snickering out the word, "No." His amusement didn't stir similar feelings in Gwen, and again she fell silent. Surprisingly, the silence was broken a few moments later by the guy instead of her.

"We're waitin' for my brother and Da' t'get back. But don't worry; yer not in any trouble."

_Huh, easy for you to say when you have all the answers_, Gwen thought dryly, feeling annoyed and scared at the same time. He seemed to read her mind because the grin he gave her was loose and earnest, and he raised his hands like in surrender. "I'm not fuckin' lyin' y'know."

"Sorry if it's difficult for me to believe anything you say when you won't even give me your name," she answered moodily, not meaning to be snippy with someone who probably held her life in his hands. Before the man had time to answer- and by the curve of his lips, she was sure he was going to answer- the front door opened and two men walked in. The first was a light-haired man probably around the same age as her host, and the second was an elderly man with thick, curly white and grey hair.

"Oy, Murph. We're home!" the first called as the second shut the door behind them.

_Murph. Hmph._

"I'm not fuckin' blind, y'know," the man named Murph responded. "Oh, and she's awake by the way, so why don't you try an' keep your fuckin' mouth shut."

"Why don't you watch your fuckin' language in front of the fuckin' lady, then!" the blonde man retorted, a grin following his words.

"Boys." The single firm word from the older man silenced both of them, and he moved to take over Murph's recently vacated seat in front of the couch. "Are you alright, lass?" he asked kindly, eyeing her carefully.

"I… I guess so," she answered hesitantly, feeling almost shy in front of three pairs of scrutinizing eyes. "I mean, I'm a bit achy and confused, but… I'm alive…?"

"If you don't mind me askin', how is it you came to be in that little hotel room?" he continued, his tone still very kind. It calmed her nerves somewhat, though she didn't know why. Her brain was still screaming at her that she was fucked sideways.

"I… They grabbed me in an alley."

"What the fuck were ye doin' in the alley?" the younger, blonde haired man asked, his tone incredulous.

"It's part of a shortcut I take walking home from work. I've never had trouble with it before-" Gwen explained defensively, but the older man interrupted her.

"Why did they grab ya?"

"I don't know," she answered honestly. "I think they grabbed the wrong person. They kept calling me Sophia and my name's not Sophia. They also kept asking me about a package- information or something like that."

Her kind inquirer leaned back then, a thoughtful expression furrowing his brow as he chewed this piece of information over.

"Who's Sophia?" the blonde man asked, lighting up two cigarettes and handing one to his darker haired brother.

"I don't know."

"Was Marco Andretti there, Angel?" Murph asked, accepting the cigarette from his brother and taking a puff. Gwen's eyes widened slightly in surprise, her eyebrows shooting up towards her hairline.

"Yes, but he left before you got there. How did you know-"

"That's what this was all about," the older one said suddenly, interrupting her.

"What, the big fucking ordeal was a package delivery?" Murphy asked.

Gwen was totally lost, but it seemed like all three men had forgotten her presence entirely.

"A peace offering, maybe, to seal the alliance," the older one answered.

"A peace offering, Da? You think they _are_ plannin' on workin' together then?" the lighter haired one asked.

"Aye. Neither family can get to the top alone, so they plan on using each other. This Sophia must be the link." "Da" pulled a cigar out of his pocket, clipped the end, lit it, and put it in his mouth, all within a matter of seconds.

"But why would Marco fuckin' Andretti be there? He's too fucking important for a package delivery," Murphy pointed out, frowning.

"He wanted to make sure it all went smoothly," Da answered simply, lighting the cigar.

"What?" The question escaped Gwen's lips before she had even thought the word. Her eyes widened slightly as all three men turned to look at her- the brothers taking drags off their cigarettes and the father puffing away at his cigar. It made her distinctly uncomfortable. "What does this have to do with me?" she continued quietly after none of them said anything.

Da sighed, leaning forward slightly. "You got mixed up right in the middle of the Italian Crime Syndicate of Boston, m'dear," he replied, tapping the end of his cigar on a nearby ashtray.

"But- how do you even know all of this anyways?!" she blurted out, hysteria unintentionally lacing her tone.

"Boys, I think we might should continue this conversation in a different room," Da said quietly, staring intently at Gwen. She wondered if she had said something wrong.

It wasn't until the three of them had stood up and were heading towards a door Gwen couldn't see due to her position on the couch that it hit her. The mob. Dead. Three Irishmen. Family. Curly white beard. Holy fucking shit.

"You're the Saints!" she gasped, the words coming out just as soon as they crossed her mind. The footsteps paused and she wondered if she had just uttered her own death sentence. No, they didn't kill innocent people. They wouldn't kill her; they couldn't. Yet, who could possibly make murdering a lifestyle and not slip into the shades of gray? She was liability now. Maybe they'd just keep her hostage instead of actually killing her?

Gwen had been so wrapped up in her thoughts she didn't realize Da' had taken up his seat on the other side of the coffee table again; the other two boys were no where to be seen. She glanced away from him, her fingers once again twisting nervously around each other.

"I won't tell anyone," she squeaked meekly; all she wanted to do was fucking go home and take a hot bubble bath. For the second time today, she unexpectedly received laughter in response to one of her statements. Brow knitting, she glanced back up at Da, confusion written all over her face.

"Y'don't have to worry 'bout that, m'dear. That's not what troubles me."

"Oh?" Gwen queried, curious now despite herself.

"Aye, lass. You're safe with us." He took a few moments to puff on his cigar, and during that short lapse of silence Gwen somehow knew the words were true. Again, her brain was screaming at her that she was being a flipping idiot, but intuition and gut feeling told her otherwise.

"When can I go?" she asked, leaning her back against the arm of the couch and slouching down. It hurt while her body adjusted to the new position, but she was too damn tired to continue sitting up without support.

"There's the rub, lass. I'm not sure if you'll be wantin' t'go." Calmly, he tapped more ashes off into the tray, waiting for her response.

"Wanting to or allowed to?" she asked in carefully measured tones. He smiled warmly, and surprisingly enough it soothed her nerves. Maybe she was just too damn exhausted and therefore wasn't thinking straight.

"I told ya, lass, we're not going to harm ya. We're not going t'be keepin' y'here against your will, neither." Puff, puff, pause. "What's your name, anyways?"

"Gwen," she answered, then, remembering the nametag added, "This isn't actually my nametag." He raised his eyebrows and Gwen took it to mean she should elaborate. "I work at a pub, and we got new uniforms and my nametag came back misspelled. I'm just using another girl's tag until mine comes in."

The man in front of her grinned and chewed a bit on the end of the cigar. "Aye, I wasn't expectin' you to be under cover or anything." Gwen felt herself flush, though she didn't know why. After another moment passed, she re-opened the previous question.

"So why won't I want to go?"

This drew a sigh from his lips, his smile fading into a look of serious concern. "If this Sophia is as important as I think, you could be stuck in a fair amount of trouble."

"What?!"

"Marco Andretti saw you, aye? Got a good look at your face, knows what ya look like without a doubt."

"I suppose so, but won't the real-"

"Do you know who Marco Andretti is?"

"The name rings a bell if that means anything. I know the Andretti's are a mob family."

"He is Alberto Andretti's only son."

"As in the head of the Andretti family mafia?"

"Aye, the very same! The drop tonight was supposed to be very, very important. That's why m'boys and I showed up: important men from the mafia were supposed to be there for this drop."

There was a moment of silence as Gwen stared down at her hands. So she had gotten herself in a tug-of-war between the two fucking Italian mob families in Boston. Awesome. "Do you know who Sophia is?"

"No, not yet. But I plan to find out."

"What should I do?" Gwen didn't know why she was looking to a man she didn't know for answers. Rationally speaking, she probably shouldn't even be trusting him. And yet somehow she did; maybe it was his gentle voice or the genuine concern she found in his eyes, but Gwen trusted him. He seemed to have all the answers anyways, so it couldn't hurt to ask him for a few.

"You have two options," he began, taking a long drag on his cigar, holding in the smoke, and then slowly breathing it out. "You can go back to your life. There's still a chance that they don't know anything about you, and that y'just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Or y'can stay here with us, perhaps even help us."

"What would that do?"

He smiled. "We can keep you safe. At least safer than you'd be on your own."

"What are the odds of them not knowing everything about me?"

"I couldn't guess. Fifty/fifty chance, I suppose. We don't have enough information about it."

"What would happen if they found me again?"

Puff-puff. "That would depend on what they need this Sophia for. They'd take y'back, that's for damn sure. Possibly kill you."

Gwen shuddered. "What if they find out I'm not Sophia. Would they just leave me alone?"

"No," he answered, shaking his head. "You could be considered a liability, and they wouldn't take that risk."

"I could be considered a liability to you, too," she said softly.

"Aye, but we don't kill innocent people. Even if it means us gettin' killed because of it."

The words were spoken with such conviction that Gwen halfway believed him. A sigh was torn from her lips, and she tiredly rubbed a hand over her face. It came away with black smudges around the finger tips from her smeared eye makeup. Great.

"Gwen?"

She glanced up at the older man, a wavering smile on her lips. "Thanks- for everything- but I think I'd rather just go home. I know it's a risk, but I can't intrude on you. It wouldn't be right."

Da nodded slowly, rising to his feet and smiling down at her. "It's a fair decision." She noticed the use of the word fair instead of good. "We can't ask you t'leave your life. Get some sleep and we'll take you to your apartment tonight."

Gwen smiled, sliding further down the couch and pulling the covers up over her chest. Closing her eyes, she relaxed her whole body. God she was so tired.

"I just want ya to know, Gwen, that we wouldn't offer for you t'stay unless we meant it."

Cracking an eyelid open, Gwen smiled further and gave a small nod before slipping off peacefully into a deep sleep.

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**((A/N- Soo, I decided to post chapter 2 because I'm eager for people to read and I felt chapter 1 looked lonely. Hope you kiddies enjoyed, and remember. Reviews are like chocolate kisses, and who doesn't like chocolate? And yes, I realize that is a fallacious statement. -- Hugs!))**


	3. Chapter 3

Blinking, Gwen opened her eyes and was surprised to find that it was nighttime already. She shifted her position slightly, stretching, and realized the pain killers must have worked; her body was still a bit stiff, but she felt a hell of a lot better than she had earlier. And her headache was gone, which was a serious plus.

Pushing herself into a sitting position, Gwen rubbed a hand across her eyes and looked around the apartment. No one was there. She took a moment to assess her injuries; the right side of her face was sore, but it wasn't swollen. There might be a bit of a bruise, but it didn't seem that bad. She had a beautifully large knot at the back of her head where they must have hit her, and the area was tender under her fingertips. Last but not least, Gwen set a hand over the white bandages covering her shoulder; it was sore and stung a bit, but was otherwise okay. A sigh escaped her lips; considering alternative options, she felt she had been lucky.

A shuffling of feet from the back part of the apartment made her look towards the open doorway leading to a hall, and the blonde man from earlier came in. He noticed she was awake immediately and smiled.

"So, you've finally decided to wake up, have ya?" he asked, and Gwen could have sworn his tone was playful.

"Yes," she answered, feeling stupid for being so boring. Although she felt completely rested, her mind was still shaking off the last bit of haze from a nice hard sleep. "What time is it?"

"'S'nearing eight o'clock, Gwennie," he answered, opening the fridge from the kitchen- which was separated from the living room only by the change from carpet to tile- and taking out a beer.

"Wow, how long did I sleep?"

"A good five hours or so," he answered, taking a swig of the beer. "Do y'want anythin'?"

"Erm, no, thank you," she answered, sliding the blanket off her legs before swinging them off the side of the couch. After a moment of bracing herself, she stood up, her legs aching terribly; it felt like she had run a flippin' marathon or something. Wincing, she hobbled her way towards the kitchen, her stiff muscles stretching reluctantly.

"Ya really shouldn't be walkin' if it hurts ya like that," the blonde man commented idly, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it.

"It'll only be worse if I don't stretch out my muscles," she replied, easing herself down into one of the plain kitchen chairs. The table was small, round, had two ashtrays and was littered with empty beer bottles/cans.

"Oh, aye, I s'pose your right," he agreed, coming to sit down at the chair opposite her.

"Am I allowed to know _your_ name?" she asked, trying to keep her tone from sounding bitter.

"Connor," he answered, exhaling smoke at the same time. "Th'other was Murphy, and Da is… just Da, I guess." He took another drag.

"Where are they?"

"Pickin' up dinner. How are y'feelin'?"

"Hungry," she admitted with a touch of a smile. "And stiff, too. I think I'll take another pain killer after I eat."

Connor nodded in response, just smoking his cigarette instead of answering. Gwen watched him curiously for a few moments, studying him. He looked so young and… normal. With all the hype that the Saints got, you'd think they were literal angels or something. His eyes met hers suddenly and he lifted his eyebrows. Gwen glanced away sheepishly.

"I guess I'm a little star struck," she said with a grin. This caused Connor to snort, a smile spreading across his features as well, and Gwen felt the need to elaborate. "You're just not what I expected for the Saints."

"What d'y'mean?" he asked, looking curious.

"Well you guys are so…" Gwen paused, looking for the right word. "You're just so normal, I guess."

Connor laughed, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette into the tray before taking another drag followed by a sip of beer. "Aye, no fuckin' halos." Gwen smiled, resting her arms on what little table space there was in front of her. There was a moment of silence in which she looked around the living room/kitchen; very dingy and very obvious that it was inhabited by all men.

"When am I going to get taken back to my apartment?" she asked at length, breaking the silence as she returned her gaze to him.

"After dinner. Da and Murph ought ta be back any moment."

As if on cue, the front door opened and the two of them walked in, each carrying a plastic bag. The smell of fast food immediately wafted over, and Gwen realized just how starving she was.

"You're awake, Gwen, good," Da' said brightly, setting his bag down on the counter. Murphy did the same, grinning at his brother before turning to Gwen.

"Gettin' to know ol' Connor, Angel?" he asked with a cheeky grin, knocking on the back of his brother's head.

"Why don't ya shut the fuck up and leave the girl alone," Connor shot back, aiming to smack his brother back but missing as Murphy moved out of the way.

"We didn't know what you'd want, so we just got ya a hamburger," Da said, ignoring his sons as he set a Styrofoam box down in front of her.

"That's perfectly fine, thank you," she said politely with a smile. There was a nagging sense of guilt over them purchasing her food, especially since they already saved her life and had opened up their apartment to her. Christ, and she had only known them for a couple of hours.

After Murphy had gotten them beers all around, everyone sat down to eat. Connor stayed in the seat across from her, Murphy sat on her left and Da on her right. Although everyone else seemed completely at east with her presence, Gwen couldn't help but feel a bit uncomfortable opening the box and eating with a family she hardly knew; it was like being a foster child learning to live with new folks or something.

She remained quiet throughout the meal, eating without tasting the food and ignoring the often amusing banter between the brothers. By the time the Styrofoam had been thrown away, Gwen was more than ready to get back home, back to her life. It'd been one day and already she felt as though she had been going hard for weeks. Da must have noticed her fidgeting, because he soon after made the announcement that Connor needed to call them a cab.

"If anyone is watching you it would be best for them not to know you were with us," Da' had explained to her as she slid into the back seat. Murphy had gotten stuck in the middle after a short scuffle with his brother, and he looked none too happy about it. Buckling her seatbelt, Gwen shifted closer to the door and looked out the window. She heard Da' give the driver instructions to leave (she had told him earlier how to get to her apartment) and felt the car pull away from the curb. Sighing, Gwen thought of a nice hot bath and a glass of red wine. Just the thought alone made her smile.

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The sight of her apartment had never been as sweet as it was when the cab pulled up. Gwen practically hopped out of the back seat, staring up at the familiar sight and wanting to practically swoon. Maybe, just maybe, she really would be able to return to every day life. Turning back around, she leaned back into the backseat and smiled, already feeling more pleasant now that she knew this whole ordeal was winding down.

"Thank you guys, for everything," she said sincerely, looking at each in turn. "I really appreciate it. Really, I don't know how to thank you enough. You saved my life."

"You're quite welcome, Gwen. Just promise t'look after yerself," Da responded with a smile.

"I will. Thanks again!" Connor and Murphy waved simultaneously as she shut the door and turned back around to trot up the steps leading to the building. She unlocked the door and slipped inside, heading straight for her apartment on the third floor. Stumbling inside, Gwen shut and quickly locked the door behind her, flipping on the lights and looking around at the small yet oh-so-familiar space. A drawling meow drew her attention downwards and she smiled at the slender kitty looking up at her.

"Clover, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, scooping him up. "Mommy was kidnapped and had quite an adventure." A meow answered her and she grinned. "You're probably looking for food," she commented pleasantly, setting him down on the floor and moving into the kitchen. "And how about that glass of red wine."

-----------------------------

Over two hours later, after a long, hot soak in the tub and three glasses of wine to finish off the bottle of Merlot, Gwen sat on her bed, painting her toe nails a bright, vivid candy apple red. The scent of conditioner, body wash, bubble bath, and nail polish floated around her, and Gwen couldn't help but sigh away what tension the hot water hadn't soaked up, applying the last coat of polish to the last nail. It was over, and as she sat there, chin resting atop her knee, Gwen felt utterly content just to be safely at home in her warm little apartment with a contented Clover purring noisily beside her.

She was completely oblivious to the tall, broad-shouldered man standing across the street from her apartment, jacket pulled tightly around him with the collar popped against the wind. She didn't see him pull out a cigarette and light it up, the smoke curling in wisps around his form to blend in with the fog that had rolled in that night. And even further from Gwen's settled mind was the vague figure of a woman standing in the alley a few feet down from the man, watching him and waiting.

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**((AN- Yay for updates, even if this chapter is a bit short! Just a heads up, I'm back at college now, so if these updates are a bit more spaced out, that's why. But I'm on Chapter Ten already, so hopefully I'll stay on schedule. Anywhos, a great big shout-out goes to chloecat for being my first reviewer- Yaaaaay! Chocolate kisses your way, Poppet, and many thanks for the compliments! I always like to hear what I'm doing right so I can do more of it . PS, I have a cat named Chloe. How cool is that? Right, well, enjoy the chapter!))**


	4. Chapter 4

"Hey Tom, can you get me three Guinness on tap?" Gwen called as she slipped into the back room, sliding empty glasses onto the counter to be washed. By the time she returned to behind the bar, Tom had the drinks ready, and she loaded them up on the tray, smiling and wiping a few strands of blonde hair out of her eyes. "Thanks."

"Busy night, ain't it?" he asked with a grin, popping the tops off a few bottles and serving them to people waiting on the other side of the bar.

"Yeah," she agreed with a laugh, winding her way expertly through the crowd to a table where three college aged boys sat. "Alright, Guinness all around," she said, setting one down in front of each of them. They all grinned at her. "Ready to order yet?"

The night had been like that since she arrived at work two hours earlier. It was steadily busy, which was good, and Gwen had been making decent tips. Tucking a wad of new cash that had been left on one of her other tables for her into her apron pocket, Gwen bustled off towards the kitchen to put in the boys' orders. She wasn't bartending tonight, which is what she preferred doing, but at least she was working. Better than sitting at home peeking out her window nervously every once and awhile.

It had been a week and a half since her wonderful brush with the Italian mafia. The graze on her left shoulder had scabbed over, and although she still kept a bandage around it, she knew it was healing nicely. Even the goose egg on the back of her head was almost gone and the sensitive bruise that had formed there wasn't paining her as much. There had been no sign of the mafia, and Gwen was getting to be confident that she had gotten out unscathed. Her proper name tag had come in a couple days earlier, and she had even managed to find her purse, thrown under the dumpster in the alley where she had been grabbed. Everything was going perfectly.

As she slid the ticket with the orders on it to the cook, Gwen's thoughts turned to the Saints… again. A frown creased her forehead, and she ran an uneasy hand down her chin. Though she hadn't known them long, the nagging worry about whether or not they were alright kept tickling her mind. She did feel a certain attachment to them, despite the fact that she had only known them a few hours. They had saved her life, for Christ's sake, and she hadn't done jack about it.

It bothered her immensely, she realized as she carried a platter of fresh food to one of her other tables. She had been so wrapped up in her self drama that she hadn't even managed to thank them properly, acting aloof and uneasy as if _they_ were the fucking mafia. The frown was unstoppable as Gwen wondered whether or not they knew just how thankful she really was. She sighed as she squeezed passed a woman heading towards the bathroom and arrived at her table, balancing the tray on one arm and setting plates down with the other.

Finally, she could pause for a moment. Tucking the tray under her arm, she headed towards the bar, her mind thinking about a nice glass of ice water. She had just reached the opening towards the back where you got in behind the bar when a group of men sitting on the stools closest to her caught her attention. There were three of them, all dark haired and older and dressed nicely, and all of them staring at her. Gwen slid behind the bar slowly, unable to take her eyes off them; they reminded her of the men the Saints had shot back in that hotel room.

"Why don't you get us a drink, girly?" one of them asked as she warily set her tray down. This wasn't really her job tonight, but turning around she decided she didn't have much of a choice.

"Um, I guess I can pause a moment. What are you having?"

"Whiskey all around," he said, slapping a bill down on the table.

"On the rocks?"

"Straight."

She shot out three glasses of whiskey and slid them across the bar, taking the bill and opening the cash register to get his change which she handed back to him as quickly as possible. "Now if you'll excuse me, gentlemen, that man right there is actually the bartender tonight," she said, pointing down at Tom. "But if you need anything to eat, just call me over." _Pfft, yeah right_.

With a strained smile, Gwen picked up her tray and slipped out from the bar, trying not to look like she was too much in a hurry to get away from them. She realized her palms were sweaty, and she could practically feel their gaze boring into her back. _Jesus Christ_.

Deciding to stay away from the bar as much as possible, Gwen went to check on all of her tables again before taking her momentary break near the kitchen.

"Something bothering you, Gwen?" Justin, one of the cooks, asked. He was a nice kid, about four years younger than herself.

"No, just some creepy guys up at the bar," she answered with a smile, letting her gaze wander back to the three men. They were huddled close now, probably talking, the smoke from their cigarettes curling ominously around them. Gwen shook her head, feeling that she was being paranoid and stupid.

"Want me to kick their asses for you?" Justin said with a grin, obviously joking.

"Somehow I don't think that fits with the 'customer is always right' policy that we in the serving industry are forced to follow," she replied, smiling back.

"Yeah, well, anything for you," he said, stirring something around in a saucepan. Gwen laughed.

"How flattering," she commented with good-natured sarcasm. Justin just rolled his eyes.

"The burgers you put in a little while ago are almost done, by the way," he said, jerking his head back behind him.

"Alright, I'll check on my tables and then come back to pick 'em up," she replied, pushing off the wall she was leaning against and heading back out into the crowd. Heading for the college boys' table first, Gwen was forced to stop abruptly as a man stepped directly in front of her, cutting off her path. Looking up at his face, she realized with horror that it was one of the men from the bar.

"Thanks for the drinks," he said with a slow grin, holding up a roll of cash between two fingers. Gwen just stared, frozen. This made his grin grow wider, and he slid the bills onto her tray before leaving with his two friends. Gwen watched them, suddenly aware that her legs felt shaky and that she couldn't move. Everything else seemed muted for awhile as she stared at the door, a cold fist curling in the pit of her stomach.

_You're being stupid_, she told herself firmly, shaking her head to break the trance. _Stop being so flippin' paranoid_.

Putting a smile on her face that she hoped was convincing, Gwen slipped the cash into the deep pocket along with the rest of her tips and continued towards the three college boys, hoping she didn't look as shook up as she felt.

----------------------------------------------------

"Want me to call you a cab?" Tom asked as he finished wiping down the last of the tables. As per usual, he and Gwen were the last two to leave the pub. Gwen looked up from where she was tying the belt of her lime green coat around her.

"Nah, already got one on the way," she answered, finishing the loose knot and pulling a scarf around her neck. It was colder outside tonight that it had been when she was kidnapped, but since she was taking a cab home, she hadn't changed out of the black shirt and short red plaid skirt that made up her work uniform. Gwen shook her head, reaching a hand up and pulling the rubber band out of her hair. In a scent of cigarette smoke and booze, it fell around her face messily and she knew she probably had a bump from where the rubber band had been. Pulling all the locks back again, she twisted the hair tie around in a new, fresher pony tail before turning back to Tom. "I'll see you tomorrow night, Tom," she called, waving as she stepped out of the pub. The icy air stung her bare legs and face, but she ignored it.

Her breath came out as a puff of steam as she looked both ways down the street for her cab; apparently it wasn't here yet. Gwen hadn't dared walk home after work since that one night. Sighing, she began a slight pacing to keep warm, deciding if the cab took much longer she'd just wait inside.

A hand suddenly clamped around her upper arm, causing Gwen to jump, her black Mary-Jane styled shoes slipping on an ice patch so that she fell backwards against her attacker. Her shriek was cut off by another hand covering her mouth, and her arm was twisted behind her back so that she couldn't move. She reached up with the other hand, attempting to hit at whoever was grabbing her, but her fingers clawed nothing but air. The grip on her arm tightened, and she was dragged down the street into the alley- the first alley she used to walk down as part of that so-called fucking short cut.

The man holding her threw her hard against the brick wall, her knees buckling so that she slid down to the icy ground. Ignoring the pain of the impact and the ice that bit at her legs, Gwen hopped back up and opened her mouth to scream when the click of a gun being cocked forced all the breath out of her lungs.

"Scream and I'll blow your fucking brains out," the voice said. Gwen shut her mouth immediately, and instead slid her hand into the pocket of her jacket- the pocket with the new bottle of pepper spray she had purchased after having lost the first one.

_Haha, I dare you to come near me you fucker_.

As the man stepped towards her, Gwen realized he was one of the men from the bar- the one who had given her the tip. Her fingers curled around the small bottle of pepper spray, anger now bubbling up inside her instead of fear.

"Marco Andretti sends his greetings, Sophia," the man said sarcastically, keeping the gun pointed at her head.

"Tell him I said to fuck off and leave me alone," she said coldly. In a flash he was right in front of her, slamming her against the wall.

"You wanna be smart with me, bitch?" he snarled, pressing the gun against her forehead. Gwen stayed silent, pulling the pepper spray slowly from her pocket; she wouldn't let it show, but the cold barrel of the gun pressing against her skin made her legs feel like jelly. "Ha, that's what I thought," he said, lifting her forward and then slamming her against the wall again. Gwen winced, but kept her eyes steady. She heard the sound of a car pull up on the main street and wondered if it was her cab.

"That should be our ride," he whispered, close enough to her face so that she could smell the whiskey on his breath.

He pulled back somewhat, turning his head to look down the alley way to see if he could get a glimpse of the car. Gwen took advantage of his space and distraction to pull the pepper spray up and give him a full dose in the face. The man howled, swinging his arm at her and sending her flying sideways into the side of a dumpster so that the pepper spray was knocked from her hands.

"You bitch! You mother fuckin' bitch!" he shouted, rubbing at his eyes and seeming like he was trying to kick at her. She moved stealthily out of his way, trying to find the pepper spray. The sound of voices behind her made her freeze, and she realized that more guys were running into the alley way. "SHE FUCKING SPRAYED SOME SHIT INTO MY EYES!"

Eyes widening, Gwen stumbled forward, hands skimming across the ground for her bottle. She head footsteps behind her and leapt forward just in time to hear the familiar whiz of silenced gunfire. Her fingers brushed against the cold metal spray bottle and she snatched it off the ground, leaping to her feet and taking off down the alley. She hadn't taken more than a few steps when a hand fell on her shoulder.

"Wa-"

Spinning around with an unintentional shriek, she gave her assailant a shot of the pepper spray. He went stumbling backwards with a hand over his face.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, woman! It's just fuckin' me!"

The Irish accent made her freeze, and she stepped forward, peering through the darkness. "Murphy?"

"Yes it's fuckin' Murphy, who the fuck did y'think it was?!" he shouted, swearing some more as he wiped at his eyes.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry! I thought you were one of them!" she gushed, staring at him hopelessly. "Stop rubbing at it, you're only making it worse! God, Murphy, I'm sorry!"

"Me too, fuckin' Christ!" he muttered behind his hands.

"Wait here; I'll go get a wet rag."

Turning around, she raced out of the alley (the limp bodies of the mobsters sprawled on the ground hardly entered her mind) and straight to the Taproom door; it was locked. "Fuck!" she shouted, before she could stop herself. Tom must have left already. Sighing, Gwen turned back around just in time to see her cab pull up. _About fucking time_.

"Murphy!" she called, jogging back to the alley. "C'mon, we'll take you back to my apartment. I'm so sorry!" Reaching out, she wrapped her fingers around his wrist and pulled his hands away from his watering eyes. She led him out of the alley and into the back seat of the cab, telling the driver her address.

Murphy sat silent, his eyes watering incessantly and his cheeks burned pink. Gwen bit her lower lip, chewing on it worrisomely as she watched him. The cab ride was five minutes at most, and she hopped out of the back seat as soon as it came to a stop, tossing the driver a few bills and telling him to keep the change. She helped Murphy up the steps and inside, leading him three flights up to her apartment.

"You would have to fuckin' live on the third floor," he grumbled as she unlocked her door and let him in. Running the back of his hands over his red eyes, Murphy glanced around the small apartment.

"Just sit down, I'll get you a rag and some eye drops. I'm so sorry!"

Hurrying out of the room, Gwen practically ran to her bathroom, pulling a fresh washcloth out and soaking it. She shuffled around through the medicine cabinet, at length pulling out her eye drops and contact solution. Squeezing excess water from the rag into the sink, Gwen flipped off the light and sprinted back to where Murphy was now sitting on her couch in the living room.

"Here," she said, offering him both. "Contact solution is good at washing out your eyes, but I brought the eye drops too just in case."

"I don't need fuckin' eye drops," he groaned, pressing the rag to his face. There was a moment of silence as Gwen sank slowly into her overstuffed chair, frowning.

"I really am sorry; I didn't exactly expect to see you there."

"Christ, woman, it's fuckin' fine."

"What _were_ you doing there, anyways?" she asked curiously, her head tilting to the side. He didn't answer right away, instead sighing and pulling the cloth off his eyes to look at her. She winced at how red they were.

"Da's had us checkin' in on you every once and awhile this past week. You're pretty fuckin' lucky I was around."

"You've been spying on me?!" A dime of anger was mixed in with the shock of the notion.

"No, just makin' sure y'weren't bein' followed or anythin' like that, especially after leavin' work and shit. We thought maybe you could lead us to the people who kidnapped you," he explained, unaffected by her response as he pressed the cold rag against his eyes again.

"You need to wash your eyes out with something," Gwen said after a moment of silence. She saw Murphy shake his head.

"Christ no, I can't fuckin' stand eye drops."

"It'll feel better if you do!" Gwen insisted, standing up and walking over to sit next to him. "Look, I'll do it. I wear contacts, I know what I'm doing and I'm good at it," she said, attempting to pull the rag away from his eyes. He swatted her hands away.

"I'm fuckin' fine."

"No, you're not. Just quit being such a baby and let me rinse your eyes with the contact solution!"

"Christ, woman, get away from me!" Murphy snapped, trying to fend her off with one hand while the other pressed the wet washcloth against his face. Gwen won out in the end, snatching the corner of the rag and pulling it out from beneath his fingers.

"Just open your eyes and stop being such a pansy!" she commanded, setting the rag out of his reach and grabbing her bottle of solution. He scowled at her and she gave him a stubborn look. "It'll feel better, I promise." She leaned forward and he didn't pull away. Taking this as permission, Gwen got up on her knees so she could hover over him, tilting his head back.

"You have to open your eye, you know," she said impatiently, using her thumb and forefinger to pull one of this eyelids open.

"That fuckin' hurts!"

"Well then keep your fuckin' eye open!" she demanded, holding his lids apart long enough to drip a couple of drops of solution into his eyes. He blinked and jerked away, bringing his hand up to rub at his eye.

"Stop, you're going to make it worse!" she snapped, handing him is rag back.

"Well that fuckin' hurt, you fuckin' liar!" he replied, pressing the rag over his eyes.

"I need to do the other eye."

"Fuck no!"

"Oh shut up," Gwen snapped, crawling over him and pushing his hands and the rag out of the way of his other eye. "Open it." His eye blinked open and she proceeded to hold the lids apart to do the same thing as before. Again he jerked away, pressing the rag over both his eyes.

"There, was that so rough?" she asked, leaning back on her heels and looking at him. He didn't answer and she just rolled her eyes.

"I can't believe y'shot me with fuckin' pepper spray."

"Well don't sneak up on me after I've been attacked," she stated matter-of-factly. "Besides, I didn't get you a full spray in the face; you jumped back pretty quickly."

"I tried to say somethin'," he responded, leaning his head back to rest it on the back of the couch.

"Next time try speaking first and grabbing second," Gwen suggested, getting off the couch. "You need to wash your hands. You might have some pepper spray on them and you don't wanna get it all over your face again."

Murphy pulled the rag off his eyes and looked at her for a moment before nodding. He followed her into the kitchen where he proceeded to wash his hands in the sink. Gwen perched on the edge of her counter, watching him.

"See, already your eyes aren't watering as much," she pointed out reasonably. He looked up at her from rinsing his hands and she could swear she saw the traces of a smile.

"Aye, Angel, you're a regular fuckin' nurse," he said, grabbing a towel and drying his hands off.

"Hardly." Gwen smiled and slid off the counter as he set the towel back down. There was a moment of awkward silence before she cleared her throat. "So, thanks for saving my life. Again." She smiled. "I know I didn't seem real appreciative last time, but I was, I promise."

"You were kidnapped by the fuckin' mob, Angel, we didn't expect ya t'be a fuckin' social butterfly."

"Why do you do that?" she asked suddenly, a small smile forming on her lips.

"Do what?"

"Call me 'Angel.'"

He shrugged. "It just sort of stuck with me," he answered. "Does it bother you?"

Gwen's smile grew, and she shook her head. "Actually it doesn't." The smiled lingered a bit longer before she turned and headed back to the living room; the sound of footsteps behind her told that Murphy was following. She sat down on the couch, pressing the heels of her palms against her eyelids in an attempt to shut out the oncoming headache. Even with her eyes closed, she knew he was watching her.

"Somethin' wrong, Angel?" he asked. The question made her look up momentarily.

"I thought everything would be okay," she answered, sighing and rubbing a hand over her face. "Now I'm fucked sideways."

"What?"

"They've been following me. They were at my work." She ran a hand over her head, pushing the wisps of hair that had escaped her ponytail out of her eyes. "I'm screwed."

"Aye, and chances are, if they know where y'work, they know where y'fuckin' live, too."

"Gee, thanks." Gwen exhaled a breath, rubbing a hand over her face and casting her gaze to the floor. _Jesus Christ, Gwenhyfar, what the fuck have you gotten yourself into?_

"Look, Angel," Murphy started, taking a seat next to her on the couch. "Maybe we can help each other out."

"What do you mean?"

"You could help us get to Marco Andretti and his mafia, and we could keep you away from those mother fuckers."

"How am I supposed to help you guys get to Andretti? Live bait?"

Murphy shrugged. "Whatever ya do, Angel, y'can't stay here. They find out you escaped and they'll fuckin' come after you again."

Gwen hesitated, her brow furrowing as she chewed on her lower lip. "I don't have anywhere to go. I can't just move to a new apartment, and I don't want to risk getting any of my friends or family mixed up in this. I don't really have a choice."

"You could always come back with me, Angel," Murphy pointed out with a bit of a smile. "We're already mixed up in this shit, so it doesn't really matter."

Gwen bit her lip and frowned; she didn't entirely feel comfortable about moving in with three men she hardly knew. It wasn't that she thought they were untrustworthy (though even that she couldn't be sure of) but they _were_ still strangers, and they had already done so much for her- _too_ much for her.

"Are… are you sure it's okay? I mean, you're the Saints… I don't want to get in the way of… your work." Her gaze shifted uneasily off to the side of Murphy, away from his gaze.

"Heh, you agreein' with what we do, Angel?"

The question made her meet his eyes and she stared at him, hard, before answering. "I think what you do might seem necessary, but I don't think that man was meant to be in charge of that kind of judgment." Turning away, Gwen stood up and walked over to lean against the door frame leading to the hall. She crossed her arms across her chest, lifting a hand to rub her forehead.

If there was one thing Gwen hated, it was not being in control of her life, and at the moment she knew things were way out of her hands. The Saints seemed to be the only logical option, if she wanted to live. She couldn't stay in her apartment, she sure as hell couldn't stay on the streets, and she'd die before leading any mafia to her family or friends. What else could she do? What else was left?

Pressing a hand to her eyes, Gwen took a deep breath and sighed. She couldn't even begin to understand what she was getting herself into, but whatever it was, she'd deal with it. She'd have to. "I'm going to go pack," she said quietly without looking over her shoulder, and after a moment's pause, she disappeared into the hallway leading to her bedroom.

**((AN- Okay, so it's been randomly snowing (and it does NOT snow here), so school has been cancelled today AND tomorrow. Woot! Anyways, that's why I've been able to update so quickly. My roomie and I have been watching movies ALL day, and I finished Chapter 10, so I decided to post Chapter three. I spent the last hour beta-ing my own work and editing things while half watching the Ali G show, so if there are errors I apologize. Buuut, I hope you are over all pleased. I adore my reviews- thanks for so many positive comments! It totally gets me giddy, and I hope I stay on track! Oh, and iheartconnor (who doesn't, by the way?), Chloe says she doesn't talk to peons. I, however, say hi to Jack and to ignore Chloe- she is the snobbiest cat in all the world and truly believes she owns the universe. Love to all!!!**

**PS- I'm totally spoiling you with these quick updates, and I'm sure you will all riot and burn me at the stake when updates get fewer and farther between :) ))**


	5. Chapter 5

She packed clothes and her beloved crochet frog she'd had since she was seven; a couple pairs of shoes and her most valuable jewelry. Everything Gwen thought she might need she took, stuffing it all into two suitcases. Running a hand across the top of her head, Gwen looked around her bathroom for anything else she ought to bring; after grabbing her toothbrush and toothpaste, she moved back into her bedroom, adding the last two items to the small suitcase mostly full of toiletries. She wished she could bring everything: every picture, every item of décor. The twisting sensation in her stomach made it hard to swallow the idea of leaving so much behind, but Gwen knew she could only pack what she absolutely needed, and at the moment that consisted mainly of clothes and a few personal items.

After dragging Clover off the bed and getting him into his cat carrier, Gwen returned to the living room to where Murphy was waiting quietly, chewing on his thumbnail. "Are y'ready, Angel?" he asked when he saw her. She nodded, swallowing hard.

"I just need to drop Clover off with my neighbor," she explained, rolling the larger suitcase with the smaller one attached to it behind her.

"I'll get those," Murphy said, moving over and taking the handle out of her hand. Gwen didn't bother to argue, instead just picking her purse up off the couch and heading out the front door. After checking to make sure she had her cell phone, charger, and keys, Gwen shrugged her purse up higher onto her shoulder and knocked on the door just to the left of her own. Mrs. Aibel had just opened her door when Murphy stepped out to shut and locked Gwen's.

"Gwen, darling, what are you doing up so late? Is everything alright, you look a bit tousled!" Mrs. Aibel, dressed in a nightgown, robe, and a hairnet, squinted down at her through her small, round glasses, a fretful look sketched across her wrinkles.

"I'm fine, Mrs. Aibel, just got off work. I have a family emergency and need to go out of town for a bit. Can you watch Clover for me?" Gwen asked, lifting the cat carrier up; an annoyed mew came from within.

"Of course I can, dear! Are you sure everything is alright?! Who is that?" The elderly woman indicated Murphy who was standing awkwardly behind Gwen, holding the handle of her suitcase.

"Oh, he's… my cousin. Came to get me. And yes, everyone is fine. I don't know when I'll be back, but I'll try calling you. Thank you so much." She handed over the cat carrier before sticking her fingers in between the metal grid door. "Bye Clover, I'll see you soon," she said, managing to stroke one of his paws. He mewed in response, drawing a smile to her lips. _I hope_.

"Don't worry, Gwen, I'll take good care of him. You just look after yourself, dearie."

Gwen smiled at her. "Thanks Mrs. Aibel. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

The door shut quietly and Gwen heaved a sigh, turning around to face Murphy who was watching her closely. "Alright, let's go."

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They took a cab back to the grungy apartment of the Saints, neither of them speaking the entire way there. Gwen rested her forehead against the cold glass, watching the scenery flicker by much as she had the last time she had taken this ride. Except last time she had been going in the opposite direction; last time she had felt the warm relief of going home. This time she felt a growing knot of unease in the pit of her stomach, writhing as she was driven into an uncertain future.

The cab came to a halt, and Gwen automatically opened her door, stepping out into the cold air and looking around as her thumb on either hand nervously cracked the knuckle of each finger individually. Despite the late time (or early, depending on how you looked at it), Gwen realized she hardly felt tired at all. On the contrary, she felt jittery, anxious, almost bubbling over with restless energy as she waited on the curb. Murphy unloaded her suitcases from the trunk and paid the driver before stepping up beside her. She shot him a brief glance, looking away almost instantly as the knot in her stomach tightened.

He led the way into the run down loft building without a word, and after a painfully long (or at least it felt that way to Gwen) ride in an old and rickety elevator to the third floor, they reached the Saints' apartment. Gwen heard the sound of a TV on low as they entered, and the smell of cigarette smoke filled her nose. Murphy shut the door behind her before brushing past further into the living room area.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ, Murph, where the fuck have you been?" Connor asked, leaping up from the couch. His eyes fell on Gwen, standing awkwardly behind his brother. "What the fuck is she doin' here?"

"She got fuckin' attacked; another fuckin' mobster. They've been tailin' her."

"Holy fuck," Connor muttered, rubbing a hand over his mouth. "Welcome to the MacManus family then, Gwennie."

"Yay…?" she replied uncertainly, lifting an eyebrow.

"What the fuck are ya wearin'? Don'tcha know it's fuckin' freezin' outside?" Connor asked suddenly, as though he hadn't even heard her reply. Gwen realized she was still dressed in her work uniform which was hardly normal for the weather- a short sleeved black collared shirt and a short red plaid skirt.

"Oh… work uniform," she said, picking at the end of her skirt shyly.

"What is goin' on?"

The voice of the third MacManus drifted in from the hall, and a moment later the grey-haired man came in. His eyes widened when they fell on her. "Gwennie! What happened?"

"Another fucking mob attack," Murphy answered for her. "You were right, Da, they're not fuckin' droppin' this one."

"Are y'okay, Gwennie?" Da asked, moving further into the room.

"I'm fine, thanks to Murphy."

"Aye, and some thanks I get. She fuckin' shot me in the eyes with pepper spray," Murphy brought up, a smile quirking the corners of his lips.

"I said I was sorry!" she shot back. "Maybe it'll teach you not to grab someone from behind after they were just attacked."

"That does sound like yeh deserved it, Murph," Connor agreed reasonably, attempting to rein in his grin.

"Oh yeah, I'd like to see you fuckin' smiling if you got somma that fuckin shit in your eyes," Murphy answered, seeming to miss the humor Connor saw in the situation.

"I'd have said something first, jackass," Connor said, laughing now.

"Enough, boys," Da said before either could say anything more. "What happened, Gwen? Can ya give us the full story?"

She nodded, feeling more relaxed than when she had climbed out of the cab only a few minutes before. "Yeah, but there's not much to tell."

"But I'm sure there's plenty to discuss." Da moved to sit at the kitchen table, followed by Gwen and Murphy. Connor stopped by the fridge first, pulling out three beers as though he was expecting a long conversation and then paused, glancing up at Gwen.

"Y'want somethin' t'drink, Gwennie?" he asked, arm resting atop the fridge door.

"Yes please; just grab me whatever you guys are having," she said, deciding that alcohol would suit her better than water on this particular night; almost getting kidnapped and finding out you had to hide from the mafia did make one want something to mellow out the nerves just a bit. Pity she hadn't grabbed the red wine before she left her apartment. Connor sat back down, sliding a beer to Gwen, Da, and Murphy before popping the top on his and taking a swig. All three MacManus men then proceeded to pull out a cigarette and light it at almost the exact same time; it was almost creepy. Watching them all puff a bit, Gwen considered asking them for one herself, but decided she couldn't possibly ask them for anything else. She'd go buy her own pack later.

"So what happened?" Da asked, drawing her attention back to the present.

"I had just gotten off work and was waiting outside for a cab. I don't walk home after closing at work anymore." A wry grin pulled at her lips. "Anyways, I was just thinking of going back inside to wait when someone grabbed me and took me into the alleyway." Remembering the earlier experience at the bar, Gwen added, "Earlier in the night I saw three men at the bar. They just…stuck out to me, gut feeling, y'know? Anyways, they asked for a drink so I poured them some whiskey and then went back to waiting on my tables. Before they left, one of them tipped me-"

"How much?" Murphy interrupted.

"I don't know. I took all my tips and put them in my purse. But it was more than a couple dollars; it was a wad of cash." All three men nodded as Da told her to keep going. "So, the guy who grabbed me while I was waiting for the cab was the same one who had tipped me. He said something about Marco Andretti sending his greetings. A car pulled up then and that's when I sprayed him with my pepper spray."

"Y'see, Murph, You're not the only one who gets that sort of special treatment," Connor spoke up with a grin. His brother scoffed at him.

Smiling at the teasing, Gwen continued. "He had mentioned something about the car being our ride, so obviously he was planning on taking me somewhere. When I had sprayed him he threw me to the side and I lost my pepper spray. Murphy came in at that point. I had just found it when he put his hand on my shoulder." Gwen felt herself flush slightly as she reached this point in the story. "I just thought he was one of them. The gunshots I heard I thought were aimed at me."

"Yeah, that's when ya fuckin' sprayed me in th'eyes."

"God, I said I was sorry, what do you want me to do? Grovel?" Gwen asked, mildly exasperated.

"Aye, that'd be about the point," Murphy replied with a nod, grinning as he inhaled more of the cigarette. Realizing that he was purposefully trying to get a rise out of her, Gwen managed an eye roll and a scoff, somehow starting to feel more at ease.

"Did y'kill all of 'em, Murph?" Connor asked, and Gwen could feel her slight comfort die almost instantly.

"Every last fuckin' one." Murphy answered without flinching. It made her stomach do an uncomfortable flip-flop.

"How many were there?" It was Da who asked the question this time.

"Four."

"There were only three at the bar," Gwen interjected. "If that helps…?"

"Were the ones Murphy shot the same ones you saw at the bar?"

Gwen held Da's gaze for a moment, frowning and trying to think back to the quick glimpse of the bodies lying in the alley. She had been so distracted with having almost been kidnapped and then spraying Murphy in the face she hadn't given them much thought. "I don't know. I know the one who had grabbed me was one from the bar. The other two were shorter. One was kind of fat. Both looked Italian with the dark hair and skin."

"Two o'the guys I shot weren't Italian," Murphy said. "They were blonde. The third looked Italian, and he was short and fat. Might be the same guy."

"Aye, but that still leaves at least one more of them out there," Da mused, running a hand back and forth across his mouth before taking a hit off his cigarette.

"Murphy said that if they know where I work they probably know where I live, too," Gwen piped up, feeling the serious atmosphere weigh down on her.

"And he's right," Da agreed. "They've probably been watchin' you, at least for the last week. They'll know where you go, who you talk to, all of that."

"Does that mean I've put my friends in danger?!" Gwen yelped, trying to keep the panic out of her voice. That was the last thing she wanted.

"Have ya hung out with anybody since last week?" Connor asked, twisting his cigarette butt in the ash dray and draining the last of his beer. Gwen realized she'd barely taken a sip of hers and quickly took a few gulps, shaking her head.

"Haven't had time. I've been working a lot and keeping low. I was a bit nervous, to be honest."

"Smart girl," Murphy commented, tapping the side of his head with his finger and twisting out his cigarette next to his brother's.

"I guess so," Gwen muttered.

"I don't think they'd go after your friends, Gwennie. If they thought you were someone else, they've not been able to watch you that closely," Connor pointed out.

"Unless they thought she was undercover," Da suggested.

"But even then, they wouldn't think any of her friends meant much to her if she hid her identity from them," Murphy countered. Again, Gwen felt like she was nothing more than air as the Saints tossed ideas back and forth.

"Aye, it's possible." Da finally put his own cigarette out in the ashtray and leaned back thoughtfully. "But we can't be affordin' t'worry 'bout that now. If that comes up later, then we'll deal with it, but there's no reason t'waste the energy thinkin' about it."

Gwen could tell the last bit was directed at her, and she nodded, chugging down the rest of her beer before it could go flat and standing up to throw the empty can away.

"Let's get to bed, I'm fuckin' tired," Murphy said suddenly, standing up also and stretching. Conner and Da followed suit, heading out of the kitchen and into the living room. She followed them and waited for one of them to tell her where she was sleeping. When no one spoke, she cleared her throat, awkwardly.

"Er, am I taking the couch or…?"

"Oh, you can take one of the beds and one of us will sleep on the couch," Murphy said, beating both Connor and Da to it.

"Oh, no, no, no. I can take the couch, I don't mind, really. In fact, I'd prefer it," Gwen insisted; she couldn't take one of their beds after everything else they had done for her. All three men seemed uncomfortable with the idea, causing Gwen to purse her lips. "Oh stop trying to be noble and just get me a blanket!" she said, grinning; the gesture felt forced to her, but she hoped it was enough to convince them she really didn't mind. Connor and Murphy finally exchanged a look before shrugging and heading off down the hall, returning a moment later with a couple of battered looking blankets.

Connor set them out as Murphy motioned for her to follow him. "Let me give ya the tour real quick," he said with a grin. Gwen followed him down the hall; it was a very short hall. Immediately to the left was Da's room, followed by a door leading to a dingy little bathroom. On the right a little ways down the hall was a door leading into a slightly bigger bedroom with two beds crammed inside; obviously Connor and Murphy's room. A short ways further was a storage closest serving as a mini armory.

"'S'not big, but it's fine for what we need," Murphy said as they went back to the living room.

"Sleep, shower, and planning, right?" Gwen elaborated, lips quirking into a smile that Murphy matched.

"Aye, pretty much."

"Well I think I'll take a shower before going to bed. I reek of smoke and booze- like a bar basically."

"Do you?" Murphy asked, seeming surprised. Gwen snorted.

"Yeah, I guess you wouldn't notice," she mumbled, more to herself. She'd never seen a family who went through more beers and cigarettes than the Saints did.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

At Murphy's question, Gwen felt herself flush. "Oh, I didn't mean-"

But Murphy cut her off, laughing. "You didn't offend me, Angel," he chuckled. This only caused the heat in Gwen's cheeks to increase, and she glanced away.

"Shut up, I've been working for the past five hours," she said huffily, walking over to the bigger suitcase and unzipping it. After grabbing a pair of pajamas, she flipped the lid shut and unzipped the smaller suitcase, taking out her loofah, toothbrush, and face wash. "Is there a towel I can borrow?" she asked, gathering everything into her arms.

"Aye, I'll get y'set up," Murphy said, leading her to the bathroom. Gwen realized both Da and Connor had gone to their rooms already. After getting a towel out of one of the cabinets, he briefly explained how the taps worked and bid her goodnight, leaving her to her shower.

Gwen looked around; it wasn't filthy exactly, but it was definitely a man's bathroom. She noticed with disappointment that they had a cheap bottle of shampoo and a well-used bar of soap; she'd either have to go shopping or go back to her apartment and pick some more things up. Maybe some cleaning supplies, too, she thought as she looked around at the grungy walls. Scowling, Gwen scolded herself for being such a snob (and such a girl) before getting the hot shower running and stripping off her clothes. The last thing she needed to do was go all girly on them and start changing things around. If they were fine with it, she was fine with it, and as Gwen stepped under the hot water, she promised herself that no matter what, she would not be a burden.

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**((AN- It's a bit of a boring transition chapter, but I hope it'll do. I'm home for the weekend, so MAYBE I'll update again tomorrow. Depends on time and if I can finish another chappie. Again, I'm still beta-ing my own work, so excuse typos. I do try my best. As for all of those wonderful, wonderful people who review- you total own my literary world. Hee hee. Seriously, when you guys leave those comments, it just makes me want to update faster! On a similar note, I'd like to know what you guys think of Gwen. I hate reading those fanfics where the main girl ends up being an annoying git whom you wish would get whacked in the end, so I'm trying to make her likeable/relatable. Opinions on that front (as well as on every other front) would be greatly appreciated! Hugs and chocolate kisses!))**


	6. Chapter 6

There was a moment of absolute confusion when Gwen awoke the next morning to the delicious smell of coffee. Warm, comfortable, and surprisingly not that tired, she had opened her eyes to find a cracked, dusty ceiling staring back at her. Turning her face slightly, Gwen took in the coffee table and the cheap TV, frowning for a moment until she remembered where she was and what had happened.

Yawning, she pushed herself into a sitting position to find Murphy in his boxers, t-shirt, and an open robe sitting at the kitchen table smoking a cigarette and drinking coffee.

"Smoking before breakfast?" she queried in lieu of a good morning, hearing the amused disgust in her own voice. Murphy glanced up from the paper spread across the table in surprise.

"Aye, so?"

Gwen laughed a bit, shaking her head. "Never mind," she chortled, swinging her legs over the couch and standing up to stretch. She felt Murphy's eyes on her and turned to look at him under her reaching arms. "Should I be selling tickets for this…?"

"Cute pajamas," was his answer as he went back to the paper, causing Gwen to look from her plain white t-shirt to her pajama pants. They were pink with different sized hearts dotted in shades of red across the fabric.

"They were a Valentine's gift, I'll have you know. Very much full of love," she stated, nose in the air and a smile on her lips as she walked over to join him at the table.

"I'm sure. Just what every girl wants from her boyfriend- pajamas. Mugs are in the top drawer." Murphy kept his eyes on the paper, tapping ash off the end of his cigarette into the ashtray as Gwen fetched herself a cup and poured some coffee. Guess she'd be drinking it black.

"I didn't say I got it from a boyfriend, genius. One of my friends gave them to me. Friends love you on Valentine's Day, too," she informed him, moving back to the table and taking up the chair across from him. "So what are you reading?" she asked curiously after a few moments of just smiling, brushing a few tousled pieces of hair out of her eyes. Gwen knew her hair must be outrageous, especially since she had fallen asleep with it only toweled dry. It was probably bent in all sorts of unusual angles, which meant it would probably get swept back into a ponytail.

"Nothin' interesting. Just passin' time."

"How boring," Gwen commented dryly, a small smile playing across her lips. "What time is it?"

"About nine thirty." Murphy shifted the page with the article he had been reading and pulled another spread towards him. Gwen was surprised she was so awake at so early an hour considering the time she had gone to bed. Then, eyes landing on her suitcase as she scanned the living room, Gwen suddenly remembered something.

"I need to go back to my apartment," she said abruptly, returning her gaze to him.

"Why?! That's a fuckin' suicide mission!"

The astonishment behind his tone made Gwen raise both eyebrows in mild surprise. "I'm not saying I want to throw a party there or anything, I just need to pick up a few more things, that's all. Won't take me five minutes. Please?"

Murphy pursed his lips at her. "No fuckin' way."

Gwen heaved a sigh, running a hand over her face as she sipped her hot coffee. "Alright, then can you take me shopping?" she asked, trying again.

"What am I? Your own personal fuckin' servant?" he asked, traces of humor in his tone.

"No, you're my own personal fucking saint," she countered, sounding very matter-of-fact about it.

"How did ya go from sprayin' me in the fuckin' eyes to claimin' ownership?" Murphy asked in a mutter, stamping out his cigarette in the tray and folding up his paper.

"Look, I have to pick up some more shampoo and conditioner. And probably some sort of body wash. I don't know my way around this neighborhood, and I'd rather not go by myself. Please?"

"You know these walls are paper fuckin' thin!" The new voice caused both Murphy and Gwen to look over at a sleepy looking Connor shuffling his way towards the kitchen.

"Sorry, we didn't mean to wake you," Gwen apologized sheepishly.

"_She_ didn't mean to wake you," Murphy amended with a grin. Connor rolled his eyes at him as he grabbed a mug out of the drawer and poured himself the last cup of coffee.

"Did Da already leave?" he asked, eyeing his mug. Gwen raised her eyebrows in surprise; and here she expected everyone to sleep in.

"Aye, left about half an hour ago to go talk with Smecker about you-know-who." Murphy jerked his head in Gwen's direction as Connor took the mug and went to sit down.

Gwen knitted her brow. "Gee, great job at being discreet."

"That's Murph, for ya," Connor said, ruffling his brother's hair and easing himself into a chair at the table. Murphy jerked his head away from under Connor's palm, throwing a piece of a shredded napkin his way as a response. It didn't make it to Connor, but it landed perfectly in his coffee, causing him to scowl darkly at his brother, who immediately started to laugh.

"That was fuckin' awesome," Murphy snickered as Connor picked the soggy paper out of the black, steaming liquid.

Gwen watched them for a moment, amused, before interrupting with, "So, who's Smecker?"

"An FBI agent," Murphy answered, still grinning as Connor finally managed to get the last dregs of napkin out of his coffee; he then polished off the remains of his own mug, lighting up another cigarette when he was finished.

"You guys work with the FBI?" Skepticism was laced in with her tone as she arched an eyebrow in disbelief. Both of the boys chuckled.

"Aye," Connor answered, accepting the box of cigarettes and a lighter from his brother. "Just Smecker and a handful of cops."

"He's the one working on your case, isn't he?" Gwen questioned, frowning slightly as various bits of news surfaced in her mind. "Paul Smecker, right?"

Connor and Murphy exchanged looks before the latter answered. "Yeah, how did you know?"

"I'm addicted to the media, and that's all you used to hear about in the paper," Gwen answered. "The infamous Saints and bullshit about the police getting closer to catching them." She rolled her eyes. Nobody she knew had ever really believed that _anyone_ was getting closer to catching the Saints. "So what's for breakfast?"

"I dunno, cereal? Go find yourself something," Murphy answered, picking up the paper again.

"Well, what all do you guys have?" she asked, feeling awkward about just helping herself to their food. The shrugs from the boys made her frown. "Maybe I should pick up some groceries when I go out today," she muttered, standing up to search for the box of cereal Murphy had hinted at.

"Yer doin' what?!" Connor exclaimed in response, his brow furrowing.

"Murphy's going with me," Gwen offered, as if that made it okay. She pulled a box of cereal out of a cabinet and eventually found a bowl and spoon. Pausing, she looked up at both of them. "You guys want some?"

"Murph, ya fuckin' retard, she can't go out in public! They're fuckin' looking for her!" Connor shouted at his brother, hitting him over the back of his head.

"Fucking Christ, we can't keep her locked up!" Murphy snapped, hitting his brother back. "Besides, no one's gonna be lookin' around here."

"I'll take that as a yes," Gwen said, loud enough for them to hear as she grabbed two more bowls and two more spoons.

"Ya can't go out yet, Gwennie! They're still lookin' for ya. At least wait a day or so," Connor said, watching her with a frown.

"I just need to pick up a few things," Gwen replied quietly, returning to the table and setting bowls down at all three places before going back to the fridge and getting the milk.

"What is it y'need?" Murphy asked.

"Shampoo, conditioner, body wash, laundry detergent, and then I'll grab a few groceries."

"And this can't wait two days?"

"Look, who's going to be watching for me in this neighborhood anyways? You're acting as though everyone is out to get me!" Gwen sighed, feeling frustrated.

"Christ, woman, are ya really this hell bent on pickin' up a few fuckin' groceries?" Connor asked, sounding just as exasperated as Gwen felt. She nodded slowly, hoping they didn't find her insistence rude or inconvenient.

"You don't have to go with me," she said suddenly, hoping to mend the situation.

"Oh, we're goin', Gwennie. But only ta keep ya from fuckin' killin' yerself," Connor replied playfully. His stifled smile made her aware of the fact that there was nothing to mend, and she couldn't help but grin back at him.

"You know I haven't been called Gwennie since I was like seven," she told him, the smile still playing across her lips.

"Well that's just too fuckin' bad, now isn't it?" Connor quipped, causing Gwen to quirk a brow as she ate her cereal.

"Aye, Angel, ya've got everyone callin' ya by something other than your fuckin' name," Murphy added in with a grin, reaching for the box and pouring himself a bowl.

"Oh please, 'Gwennie' is closer to my christened name than 'Angel' is," she pointed out, waving her spoon around for effect. "Though I guess," she added slyly after a moment of silence, "it does fit better with your line of work."

"Ah Christ, the bad jokes are already beginning," Connor muttered, watching his brother wolf down the cereal. "Slow down there Murph before ya fuckin' choke or somethin'!"

"I thought it was kind of clever, actually," Gwen admitted with a sigh, poking at the soggy flakes before scooping some up in her spoon.

"Oh aye, very clever," Murphy said sarcastically around a mouthful of food.

"That's very unbecoming," Gwen pointed out after she had swallowed, aiming her spoon at him. "A gentleman should never speak with a full mouth."

"And who says I'm a fuckin' gentleman, Angel?" The smirk on Murphy's face was almost smug, as though he was proud of the fact.

"Hmph, good point," she muttered in response, suppressing the grin she felt creeping back onto her face.

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**((AN- Woo, I feel like I keep dishing out semi-boring/short-ish chapters. I just feel the need to show some relationship development with Gwen and the boys, and I hope you guys aren't hating it; plus this was a good stopping point. I promise action returns in upcoming chapters, including a reappearance of that mystery woman- yaay! And to alexarabbit- hangovers are sooo not fun. Thank you for your response, and I'm glad you understand Gwen's character! As for the rest of my readers, reviews are love, and love makes the world go round. :) ))**


	7. Chapter 7

**((Disclaimer: I do not in any way own or claim to own _The Screwtape Letters_. It is a real novel by C.S. Lewis, and I am merely using it for Gwen to read. Not trying to profit off it or anything like that. And for the record, it's a very interesting read.))**

It was nice to be outside in the cold air and sunshine. Gwen realized she hadn't been able to really relax since that first night she had been kidnapped almost two weeks ago; but now, just walking down the street with the MacManus brothers, she felt quite comfortable and at ease. Maybe it was the fact she knew they each had a gun tucked into the backs of their jeans, but they made her feel safe.

Sliding her purse down her arm, Gwen dug around inside it for a moment before pulling out an envelope where all her tips were stuffed. Leafing through the bills, Gwen was pleased to find that in the past two nights, she had racked up pushing three hundred dollars. Good, that'd give her more than enough for the things she needed to buy. Folding the flap back down, Gwen went to stuff the envelope back in her purse when she saw that her phone was lighting up. As she pulled it out, Gwen remembered that she had turned it on silent during work and had completely forgotten about it with what had happened afterwards. She read the name on the screen, surprised to find that it was Tom calling, and flipped the phone open.

"Hello?"

Connor and Murphy spun around to look at her, both their faces taking on shocked looks as they waved at her to hang up. She merely shook her hand at them dismissively, pressing the phone to her ear as she heard Tom start spilling out words.

"Oh thank god, Gwen!"

"Tom?" Gwen responded uncertainly, her footsteps faltering until she finally came to a full stop. He only ever called her when she needed to come into work, but now, he sounded frantic.

"Gwen, are you alright?!"

"What? Yes, I'm fine. Tom, what's going on?!" she asked, a frown creasing her forehead as she plugged her other ear against the Boston traffic and Murphy and Connor's whispers for her to get off the phone.

"Have you not heard?!" he asked uncertainly.

"Heard what?" Honest confusion crept into her voice as she continued to ignore the brothers, holding up a finger as a signal for them to hold on.

"God, Gwen, about the murders!"

"What? Tom, I don't know what you're talking about. What murders?" Gwen continued to frown, her lower lip getting sucked between her teeth as she chewed nervously.

"Where are you?"

"I'm out of town. There was a small family emergency." Gwen winced inwardly at the lie. _Poor Tom._

"Is everyone alright?!" Tom asked, sounding alarmed.

"Yes, everyone's fine, but I don't have long to talk. I'm about to board my last plane."

"But you've not heard about those men getting shot in the alley way next to the Taproom?"

There was a sinking sensation in the pit of Gwen's stomach, but she easily worked shock into her voice. "What?!"

"Found 'em there the next afternoon when they opened up. Said they were shot early morning. I thought maybe it had something to do with you. I left right after you did, through the back; just assumed you had caught your cab. God, Gwen, I've been trying to get you on your cell all day."

"Oh, sorry, my cell's been on silent. But no, my cab was waiting when I left the Taproom. It must have happened after I was already on my way home." The false words tasted bitter in her mouth. She hated lying to Tom; he was always so nice to her. "Look, I'm so sorry, but I really need to get off the phone now." Gwen was worried one of the boys might snatch her phone right out of her hands if she didn't hang up soon. "Which reminds me, I won't be able to come into work for the next week or so. I'm not sure how long I'll be out of town, but I'll give you a call as soon as I can. Alright?"

"Alright, just give me call." He paused before adding, "I hope everything's alright with your family."

"Everything is fine, Tom, thank you. I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye, Gwen. Take care."

"You too, Tom." Gwen pulled her phone away from her ear and snapped it shut, turning it on vibrate before slipping it into her purse. "What?" she asked, realizing both Connor and Murphy were glaring at her.

"Who the fuck was that?" Murphy demanded.

"Tom- he works with me. He was the last one to leave the Taproom last night, right after I did. What's the big deal?"

"Yeh can't afford t'trust anyone," Connor explained, seeming a lot calmer than his brother upon first glance; she still noticed the tension in his face and frowned.

"But… it's just Tom, I've known him for almost a year now," Gwen said, finding the notion of suspecting the friendly bar tender ludicrous.

"Aye, but that don't mean shit," Murphy responded, frowning. Gwen mimicked the gesture, almost getting defensive about the subject before deciding to drop it. Not only was the matter at hand not worth an argument, but she knew they could be right. They had a hell of a lot more experience with these types of situations than she did, anyways.

Sighing, Gwen sagged her shoulders in defeat. "I'm sorry," she apologized, a familiar frustration stirring in the pit of her stomach. "I'm not used to thinking like that."

"It's alright, but ya need to start," Connor said, his words making her want to bristle but his earnest expression keeping her from doing so. She nodded slowly, and both boys relaxed at the same time, shaking their heads and pulling smokes out of their pockets.

"You guys act like clones sometimes," Gwen commented hesitantly as they all three started walking again. They both looked at her, lighting their cigarettes simultaneously and causing her to test out a smile. "Case in point."

"Well we are twins, Angel," Murphy said rationally, blowing smoke out through his nose and mouth.

"Really?" Gwen asked, somewhat surprised. "Huh, I just thought you guys were brothers."

"We're fraternal," Connor explained with a grin.

"Hey, Angel, who did you think was the older brother?" Murphy asked off-handedly, taking another puff on his cigarette and blowing it out slowly. Gwen quirked a brow at the strange question.

"Why?"

"Just answer it," Connor said, looking quite interested in what her answer might be.

"I dunno, I guess Connor. Why?"

Connor grinned wildly, lifting his arms in the air triumphantly as Murphy glowered.

"What?" Gwen asked, utterly lost. "Which one of you is really older?"

"We don't know," Murphy said, glaring at his brother a moment longer before sliding his gaze back to Gwen. Connor made a move to mess up his brother's hair, but Murphy ducked out of the way before he had the chance.

"Are you serious?"

"Oh aye, quite. Ma won't tell us, the sneaky witch," Connor said, looking amused as his brother continued scowling at him.

"Huh. Maybe it's better off that way," Gwen commented, smiling at the both of them.

"And do ya mean by that?"

"Nothing," she chimed prettily, skipping to get ahead of them before whirling around and walking backwards for a bit. "How long until we get to the grocery store?"

-----------------------------

Bags swinging from each of their arms, the trio made their way slowly back to the apartment, Murphy and Connor lazily puffing on a couple of cigarettes as Gwen paid close attention to her surroundings in order to learn the neighborhood as best she could. She had purchased a wide variety of things at the grocery store, picking things out that would help her avoid the ridiculous amount of fast food that seemed to be the staple diet of the Saints. She figured taking up a bit of space in their cabinets and fridge would be a better inconvenience than making them take her out to eat all the time; plus, if she continued eating fast food, Gwen knew she'd get sick- other health matters aside, fast food just didn't set well with her. So she had purchased some granola and bread and pre-cooked chicken breasts and other such commodities. Murphy and Connor had enjoyed teasing her about how meticulous she was when it came to reading ingredients and nutrition tables, and Gwen, in turned, had gotten flustered and pink-cheeked, pointing out that there was nothing wrong with being a health nut and that it didn't mean she was high maintenance.

It had been a good day overall, mainly because she had gotten out and about which helped clear her mind; but she had also gotten to spend some "normal" time with Connor and Murphy. They tried their best to make her comfortable, joking with her and acting as though they had known her much longer than they actually had (something Gwen was sure they did on purpose). She appreciated it a lot; it was a difficult situation for her, much more difficult than she'd admit even to herself.

The sudden buzzing of her vibrating phone jerked her out of her thoughts, and with a surprised blink she began digging through her purse to find it. Connor and Murphy seemed to notice at the same time, and they slowly stopped walking, watching as she pulled the small device out and checked the caller ID.

"It's my mom," Gwen said, looking up at them. "Can I answer it…?"

Connor and Murphy exchanged a glance before shrugging casually and nodding.

"Hello?" Gwen answered, pressing the phone to her ear as she walked.

"Hello, darling! What are you doing? You haven't called in forever!"

"I just picked up some groceries, mum, and I've been busy. What's going on?"

"Well I just wanted to tell you that your brother will be flying in next month for his birthday, and well, there's going to be a little get-together, you know."

Gwen frowned, her stomach sinking. "Mom, I don't know if I can go," she answered, knowing already her mother wouldn't accept it.

"Now Gwen, he's your brother! Besides, what could you possibly have planned that far in advance?!"

"Erm…" She honestly didn't have an answer for that.

"It's going to be on the 29th, and I expect you'll be staying at least that night. Now, Gareth will be staying that whole weekend."

The tone of her mother's voice told Gwen that she was expected to do the same, and she lifted a hand to pinch the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Mom, I'm busy, I don't know if I can make it up there," she said, halting her steps altogether to focus more on the conversation. Murphy and Connor, who were pretending like they weren't listening in, stopped as well, each taking a turn to blow smoke rings.

"Honey, are you telling me you're too busy for your own brother's birthday?! What could you possibly be doing?"

"Well, I have work, you know-"

"Ask for that weekend off! It's plenty of time in advance! Gwen, there is not one reason why you shouldn't be here."

"Mom-" Gwen stopped, having no reason left to argue except for the real truth which she knew she couldn't tell her. "Alright, I'll try," she said at length, knowing in the back of her mind it was a flat out lie, but still insisting it was at least a half-truth.

"No, you'll be here," her mother answered, sounding annoyed. "I'll buy you a plane ticket so you don't have to take the bus. You can come in on Friday and leave Monday, does that sound good?"

"Mother, I'm not promising anything," Gwen said darkly.

"Good, then we'll discuss details later. I have my aerobics class in twenty minutes."

There was a slight pause in which Gwen just squeezed her eyes shut against the frustration. A slight rustle on the other end of the phone told her that her mother was getting her things together.

"Is there anything you need before I go?"

"No, mother," Gwen replied flatly.

"You don't need a little help on your rent or anything?"

Gwen bit her lip and shook her head, even though her mother couldn't see her. "No, I'm fine mom. I'll talk to you later, okay?"

"Alright honey, I love you!"

"Love you too."

The click told Gwen her mother had hung up, and she slowly pulled the phone away from her ear, pressing the "end call" button and sliding the cell back into her purse. She saw Connor and Murphy staring at her curiously.

"What the fuck was that all about?" Connor asked lightly, flicking ash off the end of his cigarette. Gwen sighed, shaking her head as she picked up walking again.

"You don't wanna know."

---------------------------------

"You're such a fuckin' neat freak, y'know that?" Murphy commented, looking over Gwen's shoulder at the tidily arranged contents of the fridge in disbelief.

"I am not," Gwen said indignantly, straightening her posture and tilting her chin upwards in that defiant manner she took on when someone was attacking something she felt sheepish about. She watched the brothers exchange skeptical looks with one another before glancing back at her.

"Oh no," Connor patronized.

"Of course not," Murphy added in.

"You only put the spices in alphabetical order-"

"And arranged the stuff in the cabinets according to height."

"But yer not a neat freak."

"Not at all."

"Oh shut up," Gwen interrupted, cutting off their twin attack. "You only have four spices to begin with." She grabbed up all the empty plastic sacks and stuffed them into the trash can. Although the banter amused her, the frustration from her conversation with her mother still weighed heavily upon her. Gwen wanted to see her brother, even if they didn't get along very well, and she wanted to see her mother. She wanted to be able to do something as mundane as attend a stupid birthday party without the worry of leading the mob to her family. A tweak of wry amusement pointed out just how much like a movie her life sounded like right about now; unfortunately there was no guarantee that everything would work out alright in the end.

The front door opened suddenly, and all three of them turned to see Da walk in.

"We've got a job tonight, m'boys," he said in lieu of a greeting, halting suddenly when his eyes fell on Gwen. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze as the meaning of his words sank in, all traces of good feeling suddenly lost. "Perhaps you should go watch TV, Gwen," he said quietly, giving her a piercing stare.

The use of her proper nickname only added to the seriousness of the atmosphere, at least it did to Gwen, and she nodded slowly as she moved out of the kitchen and into the living room where she sank down onto the couch. She could still here the three men getting settled around the small kitchen table, and the sound of three beers opening preceded the mingled scent of two acrid cigarettes and one pungent cigar. Gwen sighed, turning on the television and flipping channels until she found the news. It was as depressing as ever.

She found out that watching TV was not enough to distract her from the muffled voices coming from behind. Every now and again she heard words and phrases that made her feel sick and cold; it was after "wait 'til the wife leaves" that Gwen finally stood up and turned the TV off.

"I'm going to go read," she told them as all three looked over at her; grabbing the first book she could find in her suitcase, Gwen trotted back to the twin's bedroom. Even with the door shut she could hear them talking- not individual words, but she heard the muted noise of their voices. At least it was low enough for her to concentrate on a book.

Glancing down, Gwen was surprised to find C.S. Lewis' _The Screwtape Letters_ setting on her lap. The irony of a randomly chosen religious novel was not lost on her as she slowly opened the cover and stared down at the first sentence. She had read the book many times, finding the satire accurately hysterical and the underlying message profound; but she had never read it while knowing that on the other side of one, thin wall, the "Saints" were planning their next God-inspired mission.

With a furrowed brow, Gwen stretched out along one of the twin's beds and propped the book up in front of her, wondering if she'd ever get used to what "the Saints" really meant.

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**((AN- So I FINALLY updated. This chapter went through MAJOR revisions over and over and over again and I'm still not sure if I'm happy with it, but whatever. I'm also going to redo part of Chapter one to correct the reason why the Saints took Gwen back with them. I always disliked my reason but could never think of a better one. Now I have.**

**And for your own personal enjoyment, here's a silly BDS anecdote: A couple of my friends and I got drunk on Wednesday night. Well, after already throroughly intoxicated, we wanted to play a drinking game, but had no props. So one of my friends suggested a game where you watch Pulp Fiction and drink every time "fuck" is said. Well, neither my roomie nor I have that movie, so what do I think? "OMG! Let's watch BDS instead!" My roomie, who has seen the movie, was like "YES!" So we put it in, and we only got through like twenty minutes before we had to turn it off 'cause none of us could drink anymore. I was just waiting to get to Rocco's eloquent and oh-so-talented use of "fuck" in the hotel room, but we stopped before then. It was still pretty funny though, I'm not gonna lie. Hee hee.**

**Anywhos, thank you sooo much for your kind reviews. luxlisbonn- wow, I'm seriously flattered. I think I went pink in the cheeks and almost squealed when I read your review. And after.a.hard.day, you can say "Me gusta mucha" for "I like it alot." Hee hee. Thanks again to everyone, and I'll try updating ASAP.))**


	8. Chapter 8

Reality crept quietly back to Gwen as she realized someone was gently shaking her shoulder and calling her name. Her eyes slid open to reveal a dimly lit room and a softly smiling Murphy sitting on the bed next to her. Blinking, she realized she must have fallen asleep sometime after the McManuses had left and that Murphy was waking her up.

"Y'fell asleep in my bed, Angel," he said, that soft smile still playing around his lips. Gwen made a disapproving noise in the back of her throat as she rolled over onto her back, staring up at both the ceiling and Murphy.

"Sorry," she muttered, running a hand over her face before pushing herself to sit up. "Where's Connor?"

"Showerin'. Da's gone t'bed already."

Gwen nodded, the last remnants of sleep still swirling around her mind. It was the dark stain on the front of Murphy's shirt that flooded her mind with cold reality, and she remembered suddenly why they had left the house in the first place. Biting her lip, Gwen glanced away, chewing nervously. The silence seemed inescapably awkward, to the point where Gwen almost wanted to shudder away from it.

"How'd everything go?"

The question had tumbled from her lips before she could stop it, and internally, Gwen had to wince. That was the last thing she wanted to talk about, to focus on, but somehow through it all she remained curious. All three were alive, which was comforting, but in some ways Gwen wanted to know how Murphy had gotten the stain, if maybe one of them had gotten hurt. At the same time she wanted nothing to do with it, to turn conversation away from the subject to anything other than that spot discoloring the dark grey.

He seemed to sense her discomfort, because he suddenly rested a hand on her shoulder, startling her enough so that she looked up at him. "It went fine."

"Then how did you get-" Gwen cut herself off, but the direction of her gaze was enough to finish the question. Murphy glanced down at his shirt and then back up at her, seeming to read her expression before sighing.

"Are ya tired, Angel?" he asked, running a hand over his face and then resting it atop his head as he stared at her.

"Not really," she admitted, wondering where he was going with this.

"Then wait up for me in the kitchen. I'll join you after I shower."

Gwen sensed a serious conversation ahead, and she frowned. Nevertheless, she gave a short nod in response to his request, moving over to the edge of the bed to stand up as she reached for her book. As if on cue, Connor came stepping through the door way, a towel around his waist and a bundle of clothes in one hand.

"Oy, no girls allowed, Gwennie," he teased with a grin, indicating with his head for her to get out. "Unless you want a free show."

"Oh please, I don't know you nearly well enough for that," Gwen answered with a miraculously managed smile, slipping past him and out the door. She heard it close behind her, and the voices of the twins faded as she made her way barefoot into the living room. Deciding to change into her pajamas really quick, Gwen pulled out another t-shirt and a pair of baggy navy pants. After hearing Murphy walk to the bathroom and shut the door, she slipped out of her daily clothing and into the pajamas, taking a total of about thirty seconds.

Gwen spent extra time neatly folding her clothes from the day and setting them in the laundry bag she had taken from her apartment. Although she didn't mind sleeping on the couch, Gwen missed having a room of her own. She missed the privacy and the feeling of being able to totally settle in. It wasn't that the living room wasn't comfortable, it was just… well, she had to share it with everyone else, and that didn't exactly make it feel like _her _space. She knew any one of the McManus men would swap her immediately, but she'd die before ever asking.

Having been able to waste only so much time on folding the clothes, Gwen moved into the kitchen and sat down at the table to wait.

-------------------------

Murphy had started off their conversation by setting down two glasses and a bottle of whiskey. Gwen eyed the amber liquid filling about half the bottle before moving her eyes to rest on the Irishman lighting up a cigarette. He met her gaze and held it for awhile before leaning forward and grabbing the whiskey.

"Is this the sugar-coating to a difficult conversation?" Gwen asked, watching as he filled the bottom of the glasses with the liquor.

"Nah, just fun," Murphy answered back, though Gwen noticed his smile wasn't quite as genuine as she had seen it before. "And feel special; I actually got out glasses."

"Let me guess, you usually just drink straight from the bottle?" The question had a whisper of a sigh as Gwen picked up her glass and examined it; whiskey was not exactly her choice of drink, especially straight. She caught his nod out of the corner of her eye as he took a swig- not even a sip, but a full blown swig- of the whiskey. "Why am I not surprised," she muttered to herself, lifting the glass to her lips and taking in only a small sip of the liquid; its bitterness burned her tongue, but she ignored it, savored it even. She only had to get some more in her before she stopped caring what it tasted like, anyways.

"So what's been botherin' ya, Angel?" Murphy asked, taking a long sip of whiskey followed by a long drag off his cigarette.

"What do you mean?" Gwen fidgeted somewhat before taking another sip of whiskey, this one bigger; it stung on the way down, making her want to cough, but she held it in. Murphy was having so little trouble with his, after all.

"You've been quiet since Da came back," Murphy elaborated, staring her down. "Since he mentioned the job."

Gwen sighed, running a hand through her hair before propping her elbow up on the table and resting her chin atop her fist. "Look, Murph, I'm not used to it, alright?"

"Not used to it? You looked almost fuckin' terrified."

Terrified was a bit too strong of a word, Gwen considered, but didn't bother bringing it up. They had come in briefly after she had left the living room to ask what she wanted to do for dinner; she had said she wasn't hungry, which was the truth. She had felt queasy looking at them, knowing they were about to go out and commit a crime they believed they had God's permission to do. And what made it right? That their victims were bad people? Were they even capable of making that decision, who was good and who was evil? Did two wrongs ever make a right?

Shaking her head, Gwen stopped herself from slipping back into her earlier musings, turning her attention to Murphy and frowning. "I'm just not comfortable with the idea, I guess," she said, trying to choose her words delicately; she didn't want to offend him, after all.

"Do you believe in God, Angel?"

The question was asked quietly, seriously, and when she met his eyes she found nothing but a carefully calculating gaze staring right back at her. It caught her off guard, and she frowned, momentarily muted by that unwavering stare.

"Yes," she answered slowly, her tone just as quiet as his had been.

"Do you believe what we do is wrong?" He took a long drag on the cigarette, keeping the smoke in while he watched her, and then blowing it out in slow tendrils.

"I believe that what you do is God's place, not yours," Gwen answered, her words firm as she met his gaze. He wanted to know, and she'd be damned if she wouldn't be perfectly honest with him. Another sip of whiskey, and Murphy leaned forward to top off both their glasses.

"What makes you say that?" he questioned, leaning back in his chair again and taking a sip.

"It is for God to judge a person, not man." Gwen paused, following his example by taking a drink. "What you do-" she hesitated, wondering how she could word exactly what she wanted to say. "It's like placing yourself in God's seat. You're claiming the ability to see the world objectively and to weigh another's sins."

A long trail of smoke issued from Murphy's mouth as he watched and listened, at length nodding in response and raising his glass to his lips. "So do you not believe us when we say we do God's will?"

"I just can't see how a person can murder, over and over again, and not cross the line. How long will it take until you turn into the exact thing you so passionately hunt down?" Gwen pursed her lips, frowning. "I don't think you are bad people, Murph, far from it. I know that you believe you are doing right, but aren't you doing exactly what earns someone a place on your hit list?"

"It's different," Murphy began, snuffing out his cigarette and pulling out another one, lighting it up almost immediately.

"Murder is murder, Murph," Gwen said quietly, looking down at the ashtray instead of him.

"Yer not seein' the point here, Angel," Murphy insisted, the gentleness in his tone taking her by surprise. She glanced up to see him leaning across the table towards her; blinking, she found herself unable to look away. "Destroy all that which is evil, so that which is good may flourish."

"What?"

"It's what we've been chosen t'do."

"Murphy-"

"Is it so hard to believe, Gwen? So hard to believe that it's true?"

The use of her proper name surprised her, and for a moment she found herself unable to answer. When the question itself processed, she realized she didn't have an answer; at least not one she was happy with. "Yeah, I guess it is," she whispered quietly, for some reason feeling ashamed of the words.

"Name one person we killed who was innocent. Tell me one place where we fucked up and crossed over into their domain."

"You haven't," Gwen answered, not even needing to think about it. In some ways she felt the question was almost rhetorical.

"You should learn t'have faith, Angel. Just because what we do isn't right with the laws o' man, doesn't mean it isn't right with the laws o' God."

Gwen had nothing with which to respond to that. So instead she remained quiet, sipping her glass dry and leaning back in her chair. The hard liquor was already making her head feel lighter than normal, reminding her that she rarely drank whiskey.

"Y'see, Angel, it is with God whom we take our vengeance, and our vengeance is always just."

"I hope you and Connor and Da will always be able to say that, Murphy."

He smiled. "And we will, Angel, we will."

Somehow his tone made it all too easy to believe.

------------------------

They had sat there in silence for several moments longer, Murphy finishing up his cigarette and Gwen just sitting slouched in her chair, thinking. Judging by the look on her face, Murphy figured she was chewing over everything that had been said. Good, at least she wasn't completely rejecting the idea. If she was going to live with them, Murphy knew she'd have to get used to it; they'd all be fucking at odds if she didn't.

Deciding that the cigarette was pretty much done, Murphy twisted it out in the ashtray, standing up to collect the two glasses and the bottle of whiskey. Gwen didn't move or even blink for that matter, but instead continued staring blankly at the table as though it was about to reveal the secrets of the universe at any moment. Moving to the sink, Murphy rinsed out both glasses before setting them back in the cabinet, placing the bottle of whiskey amongst the other liquors (that was a luxury they damn well took pleasure in).

"I wouldn't have expected this conversation from you."

Surprised at Gwen's sudden speech (but more so at what she actually said) Murphy turned back to face her. "What d'ya mean by that?" he asked, curious. She shrugged, lifting a hand to fiddle with one of the empty beer bottles on the table.

"Just that… I dunno, I'd expect Connor to be the one to give a serious lecture like that."

"I wasn't lecturin'-"

"You know what I mean." Gwen smiled, though it wasn't necessarily amused or happy or anything along those lines. Murphy considered her words, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. As though realizing she hadn't gotten her point across, Gwen shook her head. "Never mind, I don't know how to explain it."

"Alright," Murphy answered doubtfully, pushing in his chair. "Get some sleep, Angel," he said, crossing to the living room and smiling at her over his shoulder. "Ya never know what tomorrow might fuck you over with."

She managed a wavering smile back as he disappeared down the hallway, leaving her to stew in her thoughts, all of which revolved around the Saints. It was like a mini war going on inside her head, with one side reasoning pro-saints and the other side staunchly sticking with her black-and-white morals. Sighing, Gwen stood up from the table and flipped the switch for the kitchen lights, picking her way towards the couch in the dark where she settled in under the blankets.

Although she wanted to go to sleep, Gwen knew it would be a long time before her thoughts made peace for the night. Rolling onto her side, she wondered if perhaps Murphy was right. The laws of God were most certainly higher than the laws of man. But, on the other hand, who were they to say they were actually adhering to God's law? Did they really have God's exclusive permission to murder?

A frustrated sigh tore from her lips as Gwen flopped back onto her back. Yep, it was going to be a _very_ long night.

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**((AN- Yay to my solitary reviewer from last chapter! And more yays for an update! I apologize if there are typos/errors. I'm beta-ing my own work, which leaves lots of room for mistakes, plus I wasn't super focused tonight with the editing. At any rate, I hope it pleases you guys (if anyone is still reading..?) I'm rather fond of this chapter, as I like it when characters butt-heads much more than when they get along. More interesting that way. Read and Review, and I will love you eternally. Ta!))**


	9. Chapter 9

"Oy, wake up. We're meetin' Smecker in an hour for lunch."

Gwen's eyes snapped open as her blanket was jerked unceremoniously off her body, just in time to see Murphy disappear onto the other side of the couch. Scowling, she sat up and rubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hand. "Thanks for the gentle wake up call," she greeted sarcastically, leaning against the back of the couch to give Murphy an annoyed look.

"Well it's almost eleven thirty. I thought ya'd never fuckin' wake up," he answered, sitting back down at the table and picking up his beer and cigarette, which had been perched on the edge of the ash tray.

"Is it really?" Gwen asked, surprised she had slept so late considering her lengthy nap the night before.

"Aye, yer s'posed ta meet Smecker for lunch."

"Mrrrrh," Gwen answered, standing up and scratching her stomach before moving to her suitcase to pull out clothes for the day. "I'm gonna go shower." And with that, she headed off to the bathroom, Murphy's eyes on her back the whole way. It made her wonder if he wanted to talk about last night or if perhaps he was just wondering if that's what she wanted. She didn't want to discuss last night, though, and she'd push memories of the conversation to the back of her mind for now.

After a quick shower and blow drying her hair, Gwen put on her aqua t-shirt and comfortable jeans before doing her make up- just some blush, eyeliner, and a bit of eye shadow. She was ready in about half an hour and left the bathroom to go put on her jewelry and tennis shoes. Murphy was in the exact same position he had been in when she left: sitting at the kitchen table, beer in one hand and a smoke in the other, with the day's newspaper spread out before him.

Shaking her head somewhat, Gwen kneeled down and opened her smaller suitcase, opening up a small box and pulling out a pair of dark turquoise and silver earrings to put on. She then put on a pair of socks, followed by her grey sketchers, and stood up, hands on her hips, to look at Murphy. "I'm ready."

He glanced up at her, chewing on this thumbnail before taking one last drag off the cigarette and putting it out in the ashtray, draining his beer and tossing it in the trash. "Well let's go, then."

Gwen grabbed her purse, checking that her wallet and cell were inside, before following Murphy out the door, pulling on her expensive, black Kenneth Cole pea coat (a Christmas gift from her mother). He shut and locked the door behind them, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his own felt, much cheaper pea coat as he led the way out of the building with Gwen trudging silently behind him.

"So what's he like?" she asked, once they had reached the street. It was cloudy today, and cold, and judging from the angry grey clouds blocking out the sky, there was a good chance of rain. Hugging her jacket tighter around her to block out the whipping wind, Gwen hurried her pace so that she was strolling alongside him rather than slightly behind.

"Who?"

"Smecker." Gwen brushed the hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear to try and keep it from being blown about by the wind.

She saw Murphy give a shrug before he answered. "He's a good man, very sharp," he explained, crossing the street. "A bit strange, though."

"Strange is good," Gwen said with a nod. "I've read he's one of the best there is. He can figure out almost any crime just from looking at the scene."

"Oh, he's good," Murphy agreed, smiling at her. "The first time Connor and I met him was after a brush with a couple o' Russian mother fuckers. He had the whole fuckin' thing figure out before we even made it to the fuckin' police station."

Gwen noted a hint of amusement in Murphy's words, and she smiled back. "I think I remember that. Self defense, right?" Tucking her hair behind her ear didn't seem to be an adequate solution against the wind, and Gwen was beginning to think she'd have to pull it up.

"Aye," Murphy answered, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it; Gwen was surprised he hadn't pulled one out sooner. "There had been a bar fight the night before; guess they wanted revenge."

"Revenge is overrated," Gwen replied, hop-skipping along beside him in an attempt to generate more body heat and work out a few extra nerves; she didn't know why, but she was very nervous about the meeting with Smecker.

"Perhaps, Angel." Murphy stopped in front of a small sandwich shop and glanced around, flicking his cigarette to the ground and grinding it under his boot. "Here it is," he explained when Gwen gave him a quizzical look. "I'm supposed to wait outside for you."

"What?" Gwen almost yelped, the one word question coming across a lot more panicked than she intended. When Murphy lifted his eyebrows inquiringly, she hastily elaborated, "It's just… I mean, I thought you were coming with. I thought everyone was going to be there…"

"Nah, it's too dangerous for us to meet with Smecker. If we were spotted meeting, it'd be fucking over."

"Oh, so… it'll just be me then…"

"Aye, that'd be the point," Murphy agreed with a short nod as he tossed his cigarette to the concrete and ground the butt beneath his boot.

"Oh…" Gwen hesitated, glancing inside the small diner uneasily.

"You goin' in, Angel?" Murphy asked with a laugh, grabbing the handle and opening the door for her. She shot him a scowl before stepping inside the cozy little café. Her coat was shrugged off almost immediately, and Gwen took a moment to look around.

He was sitting in a corner with a coffee and the morning's paper. How she recognized him, Gwen wasn't sure; yeah she had seen him on the news, but that didn't seem to be it; he recognized her about the same time she did him, and with a polite smile, he folded the paper and set it on the table in front of him.

"You must be Gwen," he greeted, offering her the chair across from him as he put out the cigarette he had been smoking.

"Yes, and you must be Agent Paul Smecker," she responded with a similar expression, lowering herself into the seat and draping her coat across the back of the chair.

"Just Paul will be fine," he answered, shifting his posture. "You want something?" he asked, waving over a waitress.

"Oh, um, no thank you," Gwen answered, not really in the mood to eat; now that she was here, she was eager to hear what Smecker would have to say. Maybe he would know something.

"Another coffee," Smecker, told the waitress, "And one for the lady here. You do drink coffee, don't you?" The question was directed at Gwen, and she gave a quick nod followed by a thankful smile before the waitress bustled off. "Now, about what's been going on…" Smecker began, idly smoothing out the paper setting on the table. Gwen stiffened eagerly, sliding forward to perch on the edge of her seat. "Why don't you tell me the story, starting at the beginning."

The request was somewhat deflating; she didn't want to regurgitate the story yet again. Gwen wanted new facts, answers, maybe a reassurance that within a few days she'd be going back home! A quiet sigh escaped her lips and she rubbed at her forehead, leaning back against her chair.

"I know you're tired of telling this story, but humor me."

Gwen glanced back at Smecker to find him lounging in his chair with a haphazard grin. Nodding somewhat, she settled herself into her own chair, thinking back to the beginning. She started with the first night, describing how she had been kidnapped and what all they had said. Smecker was keen on minute details- setting, where people had been sitting, what exactly they said. It was difficult for Gwen, and she found herself saying "I don't remember" more than anything else. Within twenty minutes she was frustrated and downing coffee like it was a drug.

"And you have no idea who this Sophia is?"

"No," Gwen answered dully for what felt like the millionth time; if she knew who Sophia was, she'd have done something about it by now! Why did everyone feel the need to ask her every other day? "All I know is that she was supposed to deliver something to Marco Andretti. And that she's been trying to unite the Andretti's with the Yakavetta's. But that's all." Gwen took another sip of coffee and rubbed tiredly at her forehead. Her mind felt like a wrung out sponge after having picked it over for every last detail about the Italian mafia. Even still, she found herself wondering who Sophia was- what did she have to offer the Italians that would get her in on the inside?

"I know you wanted answers," Smecker began, drawing Gwen's attention again. "Unfortunately I don't have any. I'll look into this Sophia thing, though. In the mean time, you'll want to be careful. I suggest you continue living with the MacManuses for the time being."

As Smecker stood up and began pulling on his coat, Gwen tried her best not to look disappointed. This wasn't how she envisioned the meeting at all; Smecker was supposed to know the answers to all her questions. He was supposed to tell her she'd be able to return to normal life next week; that she'd be able to call her mother and say she would be going to her brother's birthday party. Then again, Gwen had always been a bit idealistic.

"I'm sorry to cut this short, but I'm expected back at the office. We're working on the case from last night. It was nice meeting you."

"It was nice meeting you too, Agent Smecker," Gwen answered, standing up as well. He smiled and nodded at her before throwing a few bills on the table to pay for coffee; Gwen was so wrapped up in her own musings she didn't even think to protest. The tinkling of the bell signaled Smecker had left the café, but Gwen didn't follow, at least not immediately. Instead, she sank back down in her chair and thought.

--------------------------------

"'Bout time ya fuckin' show up," Murphy said in lieu of a greeting as his brother finally arrived outside the diner. Gwen had disappeared inside about twenty minutes earlier, and after making sure she spotted Smecker, Murphy had taken up residence against the side of the building.

"I'm here early, thank you very fuckin' much," Connor answered, glancing from Murphy to the glass window of the diner. "She inside?"

"Aye," Murphy answered, joining his brother's gaze and watched as Gwen and Smecker talked. "We got here about twenty minutes ago."

"What do you think they're talking about?"

"Dunno." Murphy shrugged, blowing a stream of smoke out and flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. "Do ya think he'll know anything?"

"If he doesn't now he'll figure somethin' out." Connor fell silent for a moment as he drew out a cigarette and a lighter, his gaze dropping to the cement thoughtfully. Minutes slipped by in silence after the couple of clicks it took to light the cigarette and the only noise in the air was the noise of the city. "It's fucking weird, man, y'know?" he said suddenly around a mouthful of smoke, glancing back up at Murphy who shot him an inquiring sort of look. "Just this whole thing," he explained, gesturing vaguely. "Gwen, and this Sophia person. It's just fuckin' weird. Things are usually much simpler."

Before Murphy could answer the door to the diner opened and Smecker stepped out. Both MacManus brothers stiffened somewhat, but the Agent didn't even so much as blink in their direction. The only exchange between the three men was the slightest of nods given by Smecker before he took off down the street. Connor and Murphy waited awhile before turning to look inside the diner.

"What the fuck is she doin'?" Murphy asked, watching as she sat back down.

"Dunno, maybe he told her somethin' important," Connor suggested, also watching.

"Should we go in and ask?"

The boys exchanged a quick look before both darted for the door. Connor got there first, but Murphy hauled him away, shoving him in the opposite direction before managing to get inside. Connor was right behind him, and they both hurried over to where Gwen was seated, each throwing himself into an empty chair.

"So?" Connor asked.

"Did he know anything?" Murphy added.

"No," she answered quietly, not bothering to look up from her coffee. "He said he'd look into it though."

Again, the twins exchanged glances, obviously hoping the other one would know what to say. It seemed both were at a loss for words, however, and rather than saying anything, they just remained silent for a few moments.

"If he's lookin' in ta it, Angel, he'll figure somethin' out," Murphy attempted, managing to get a small nod out of Gwen but little else. He turned to his brother for assistance, and Connor shrugged.

"Let's get out of here," he said, standing up. Murphy did the same, and eventually Gwen climbed to her feet as well, taking her jacket from the back of her chair and slipping it on.

"Where are we going?" she asked uncertainly as they led the way out of the diner.

"First we're goin' t'show you around this part o'town so ya don't get fuckin' lost if ya ever go out by yourself."

"Then, we're gonna show you one of our favorite places not far from here," Murphy added as he caught on to Connor's train of thought; the grinning look exchanged between the brothers did not go unnoticed by Gwen. In fact, she pursed her lips because of it, now suddenly suspicious.

"I'll have you know that I won't find a strip club nearly as entertaining as you would," she teased, feigning seriousness excellently save for the slight smile.

"I'm offended you would even suggest such a thing!" Connor exclaimed, sounding shocked.

"Aye, we're Saints, Angel, remember?" Murphy added, beaming.

"Right," Gwen sarcastically responded, ignoring exactly what all being a "Saint" implied for these particular brothers. "Then where are you taking me?"

Connor didn't answer her; instead he threw his cigarette against the pavement and ground it under his boot before heading off down the street. Murphy, however, leaned towards her and whispered conspiratorially, "You'll see." And with a mischievous smirk, he followed his brother, tossing his own cigarette onto the asphalt of the street. Gwen remained still only for a second, watching them swagger down the sidewalk at the same pace, their strides almost identical.

Shaking her head somewhat, she jogged to catch up, content with remaining just a few steps behind them as they led the way forward, and for a brief moment she couldn't help but wonder where they were going to end up.

-------------------------------------------

The tour around the Irish side of Boston was amusing, to say the least. Gwen almost wished she had had a camera to document it all, between Murphy and Connor's good-natured bickering and the narrow escapes from annoyed looking pedestrians. The brothers together had a personality all of their own, and yet Gwen didn't feel left out; oh no, the boys made sure of that. From arguing over who got to buy her coffee later in the afternoon to fighting for the chance to put their arm around her shoulders, Gwen had felt as if she was in the middle of everything. And to be quite honest, it was the most comfortable, most contented, most relaxed she had been in a very long time. There was something natural about being with Connor and Murphy, something that made her forget the sinister reality to why she was spending time with them.

"Why do I have a feeling you don't get to spend much time around girls?" Gwen laughed as Connor looped his arm with hers only to be matched on her other side by Murphy.

"And how do ya figure that one, Angel?" Murphy asked.

"Because you're acting like it," Gwen answered with a smile. "You're spilling over with unused chivalry. Maybe you should spend less time drinking and more time girl-hunting. Two attractive gentlemen such as yourselves shouldn't have much trouble. Besides, you're Irish."

"Ya hear that, Connor? We're good attractive," Murphy said over her head to his brother, seeming to puff up with pride.

"Yes we are!" Connor agreed emphatically, looking smug.

"Allow me to pop your over-inflated egos before they suffocate me," Gwen put in dryly.

"You said it, not us," Murphy pointed out.

"Very true," Gwen admitted with a slight shrug that was inhibited slightly by their arms. "So do we get to stop by this oh-so-secret place you two have been dropping hints about all afternoon?" she asked, nudging them both with her elbows.

"Aye, we're heading there now," Connor explained, releasing her arm and heading forward to take the lead. Murphy remained linked to her, and Gwen found that she was perfectly fine with it.

"We got to move back to this area of town a couple months ago. We figured it'd be safer to live around friends who wouldn't turn us in after seein' the evening news report," he explained to her as Connor approached the end of the street. "This place like home t'us."

"And what is this place?" Gwen asked quietly, leaning in conspiratorially. Murphy just grinned and fell silent.

In a matter of seconds they rounded the corner and she found a sign that explained it all:

_McGinty's Irish Pub_

"A bar, why am I not surprised?" Gwen asked, shaking her head.

"Disappointed, Angel?" Murphy asked as he released her arm.

"No, just not surprised."

"Ladies first," Connor said with a smile, beckoning her through the door. "That means you too, Murph," he added once Gwen had stepped inside.

"Oh, _fuck_ you," Murphy said, shoving his brother out of the way and walking in; Connor followed, grinning.

McGinty's was almost like every other pub or bar Gwen had visited. Cozy, dimly lit, full of smoke, the works. And yet there was a homier atmosphere inside, like everyone knew everyone and only friends came to drink here. She instantly decided she liked the place.

"I feel like an alcoholic being in a bar at four o'clock," she said over her shoulder as Connor and Murphy moved towards her, pausing once they reached either side. _Hmph, like a couple of body guards_, she thought with wry amusement.

"Nah, it's the Irish way," Connor explained with a wink, strolling off towards the bar.

"C'mon, Angel, we'll be wanting to introduce you to a good friend." Murphy led Gwen up to the bar where Connor had already jumped into a conversation with the man behind it- an old, friendly looking person with large glasses. He had just finished scolding Connor for not having dropped by in a while- something about dropping off the face of the "f-f-f-f-fuckin' earth"- when they arrived.

"Doc, we'd like ya ta meet our new roommate, Gwen Harper," Connor said, introducing the two of them.

"P-p-pleasure t-t-ta meet ya, lass," he said, beaming as he finished drying out the inside of a glass.

"Same to you," she replied, grinning.

"Gwen here works at a pub, too," Murphy said, resting a hand on her shoulder. "A place called the Taproom."

"Aye, an' you should see the outfit she wears," Connor added with a wink. Gwen was offended.

"Hey! It's not THAT bad," she pointed out, crossing her arms across her chest. "Besides, you get great tips for it." Although trying to be matter-of-fact and oh-so-reasonable, the identical expressions of "Oh really?" written across the MacManus brother's faces made Gwen backtrack. "I didn't mean it like _that_! It's just… a statement of fact. Besides, it's an Irish Pub. It's like a costume."

"I don't see Doc wearin' a short skirt," Murphy pointed out, leaning over the counter as though to check.

"Aye, and thank God for it," Connor laughed. Gwen couldn't think of anything to defend herself with, so she remained sulkily silent, arms crossed and a fuming expression on her face.

"Hey Doc, why don't you round up a couple o'drinks before we head back. We can't stay long."

"I d-d-don't know how ya ended up with these b-b-b-b-boys - FUCK! ASS!"

Gwen jumped, eyes widening somewhat at the sudden outburst.

"But I hope they're treatin' ya right," Doc finished, as if nothing had happened. Gwen quickly schooled her astonished expression into a mere smile.

"They've been very well behaved actually," she said, smiling as Doc poured three pints of Guinness and slid them across the bar.

"Ya here that, Conn?" Murphy whispered loudly, elbowing his brother in the side. "We're good lookin' _and_ well behaved."

"What a couple o'desirable bachelors we are, Murph!" Connor agreed.

"D-d-d-d-desirable my fuckin' ass," Doc interjected.

"Now why d'ya have to go sidin' against us, Doc? Don't we keep this bar open with all our generous donations?" Connor asked, looking wounded.

"Just finish yer drinks and get the fuck outta here," Doc said, and Gwen could easily detect the jest underneath the words. Nevertheless, the three of them downed the rest of the Guinness, bid their goodbyes to Doc, and headed out the door. Evening was falling over Boston, and Gwen turned her thoughts to her meeting with Smecker that morning.

They were only about a block away from McGinty's when she saw him; a tall, broad-shouldered man hazily familiar, leaning against a lamppost across the street reading the paper. He glanced up almost at the exact same time she spotted him, their eyes meeting instantly. It felt as though an ice cube had been dropped down the back of her shirt as he stared at her, squinting almost as though he wasn't entirely sure if he was seeing correctly.

"Gwen, are ya alright?"

Blinking, Gwen turned to look at Connor and found that both the boys were several paces in front of her; she must have stopped moving without realizing it. She turned her eyes back across the street and saw that the man was gone. There was sinking sensation in the pit of her stomach, and she turned to find both Connor and Murphy backtracking their steps to come stand next to her. All the laughter and amusement was gone from both of their faces as they stared at her.

"What's the matter, Angel?" Murphy asked, frowning.

"I saw someone," Gwen answered vaguely, turning her head to scan the area across the street.

"Christ, Gwennie, yer gonna hafta give us more t'go on than that," Connor said, resting a hand on either of her shoulders.

"Let's just get back to the apartment," she said at length, tearing her eyes away from opposite sidewalk when she couldn't find him.

Rather than push the subject, both of them just nodded and started walking again. Gwen did too, her footsteps feeling much heavier than they had a moment or two ago. The nervous knot that had formed in her stomach wasn't going away, and she noticed that Connor and Murphy stuck much closer to her than they had all afternoon, their arms occasionally brushing against hers. The nagging had started up again, that constant uneasy gnawing, and as they hurried back towards the apartment, Gwen just couldn't shake that ominous feeling that something was about to happen, and whatever it was, it wasn't good.

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**((AN- Wow, long time since an update, I know. Terribly sorry! School stuff has been keeping me ridiculously busy- homework is the devil in case you didn't know- and on top of that, I despised this chapter. Every time I started in to edit it, I didn't get further than about a page. I think I am horrible at writing for Smecker, and the meeting went through serious revisions over and over again. I'm still not happy with it, but I'm tired of dealing with it and I'm determined to give you an update before my Spring Break is up. Besides, how poetic is it for me to updateon St. Patty's?! Lol. Hopefully I'll update again sooner rather than later. Hope you enjoy the chappie, even though I don't, and thank you SO much for all your fabulous reviews! They make me smile! Happy St. Patrick's Day!))**


	10. Chapter 10

Over an hour later, Gwen still couldn't shake that bad feeling, even as she stood over the stir fry sizzling in the pan. Much to her relief, Connor and Murphy had suggested cooking tonight rather than ordering out. She had taken over stirring the contents of the pan, Connor was slicing a loaf of bread, and Murphy had run to the nearest store for more beer (go figure). She was happy for the opportunity to focus her attention on something other than her bad feelings, but even as she absent-mindedly stirred the rice and chicken, she couldn't stop thinking about that man.

Who had he been? Was he even someone to be worrying about? Was she just being paranoid? Maybe he was no one. Maybe he was part of the mafia. Had he been following her? Would he find out where the Saints lived, all because of her? Would she wake up tonight to a group of mafia men storming in through a door, guns drawn?

Gwen shook her head, aware that she was being stupid when the mobsters she had imagined breaking down the door were wearing pin-striped suits and holding tommy guns. Chances were high that he had been a no body, and that it had just been Gwen's paranoid mind playing tricks on her. It had happened a lot the first couple of days she had been back at the apartment. Every slight noise in her apartment had been someone trying to break in; the man behind her on her way to the bank had been part of the mafia waiting to grab her again; the car parked in front of her apartment building had been on a stake out, waiting for her.

Each theory had been dashed against the rocks by some mundane activity, finally convincing Gwen that she needed to stop being so on edge and return to daily life. Now, despite the fact that there was a mini armory in the closet down the hall and she was in an apartment with three men more than capable of using it, Gwen felt that paranoia creeping back up on her. Well damn it all if she was going to let it get to her.

Deeming the stir fry done, Gwen moved the pan to one of the cool burners and turned the stove off. She slipped around Connor and grabbed four plates from the cabinet and set to work setting the table.

"Will Da be eating with us?" she asked, pulling out a handful of forks and knives.

"Aye," Connor answered as he finished up the potatoes.

"Where is he?"

"Dunno. He's gone a lot during the days. We never know what he's up to and he won't tell us. Murph and me figure it has somethin' t'do with the jobs." Connor shrugged. "But he'll be here for dinner."

"Oh," Gwen answered boringly, managing to fit the roll of paper towels on the small table.

The front door opened and Murphy entered with two plastic bags of beer. "I'm back," he announced, unnecessarily. The door was shut against the frigid night air, and he entered the kitchen to set both bags down on the counter. "Da not home yet?" he asked, looking around. Connor shook his head, depositing a couple slices of bread on everyone's plate. Gwen busied herself with cleaning the pan she had used to make the stir fry in while Murphy set a bottle of beer at each place setting. Just as she was rinsing the pan, the door opened and Da walked in.

"Somethin' smells good," he greeted, draping his coat over the back of a chair and coming to stand just outside the kitchen area. The four of them squeezed in around the small table, and Gwen looked over the make-shift meal. It wasn't high dining cuisine, but it looked good nonetheless.

"Are ya alright, Gwen?" Da asked suddenly and in his usual blunt way, and Gwen glanced up quickly, startled out of her thoughts. Had she been wearing her thoughts on her sleeve again?

"What? No, I'm fine. Sorry, just thinking," she answered, hastily covering up by taking a few eager bites of hot stir fry. It seemed to be enough, because the three men went back to their own meals, leaving Gwen to pick at her own in peace.

-------------------------------

"I'm going for a walk," she announced, pulling on her trusty lime green coat and tying the belt around her waist.

"I'll go with you," Connor and Murphy chorused together, both shooting each other annoyed looks as though the one had purposefully copied the other.

"No," Gwen declined, looping a scarf around her neck. "I want to go alone, if that's alright. I'll stay close by, and you showed me the neighborhood on the way home. I'll just make the block." It was obvious by the looks on the twins' faces that neither one were comfortable with the idea, causing her to sigh. "Look, I just want some fresh air and room to think. And I still have my pepper spray!" She pulled it out of her pocket and wriggled it in her fingers as proof.

"Gwen, this isn't exactly a safe part of town," Connor began, rubbing his chin and frowning at her.

"Aye, it's no fucking cake walk," Murphy agreed. Gwen was beginning to feel annoyed; all she wanted to do was take a short, quick walk, by herself. She needed the space! And yet, she knew they meant well and that they were probably right; she shouldn't be going anywhere by herself, especially at night. But it still made her feel trapped, which made her restless, which made her irritable. All of which led back to her need to be by herself for a bit.

"Please," she pleaded, trying not to sound annoyed. "If I'm not back in five minutes you can come looking for me, but please just let me take a quick walk alone."

"Alright." It was Connor who hesitantly agreed first, followed by a reluctant nod from Murphy. She gave both of them a grateful smile, grabbing her cell phone out of her purse and heading out the door.

The night air was frigid, and there was ice on the steps as Gwen picked her way to the street, her breath coming out as a puff of steam. Stuffing her hands into her pockets, Gwen started off down the street, her arms pressing against her body in order to keep some heat. A stiff, icy wind whipped past, tugging at the loose ends of her hair and causing Gwen to shiver. It was freezing and damp and miserable, but at least she was alone. Cold air was always good for clearing thoughts anyways.

Pushing the swarming net of thoughts to the back of her mind, Gwen inhaled a deep breath, blinking against the cold and turning her head up to the overcast sky. Her pace was kept brisk, and soon she was turning the first corner of the block she was making, striding quickly down the darker street. Connor and Murphy were right about their neighborhood, if Gwen could go off looks alone. It didn't bother her, though; this was, after all, the girl who took shady back alleys as a shortcut to and from work. Then again, she reasoned, that same girl had gotten kidnapped by the mob, mistaken for someone else, shot, saved, almost kidnapped again, and was now living with the most infamous outlaws since Billy the Kid.

Christ, a lot could happen in just two weeks.

Again, Gwen frowned, her thoughts inevitably returning to her current situation. It was impossible to live with the Saints for any extended amount of time. She had her rent to pay and cell phone bill and other such things she couldn't just drop. Then there was her family to consider, and Clover, of course. She had her job to maintain, and friends to keep in contact with. If she just dropped off the face of the earth, she was certain the entire Boston Police Department would be forced out onto the streets to look for her.

No, something would have to be done. She could not stay with the Saints indefinitely, and she'd have to make time to see her friends and call her family. Gwen turned the next corner. Perhaps she'd give her mom a ring right now, just to let her know that she loved her. Pulling out her lime green phone, Gwen flipped it open and pressed the button that opened her address book.

It was like getting hit with a truck. The sheer force of the impact sent her flying into the brick wall of the building she had been circling, her phone flying out of her hand. Dancing dots of color exploded before her eyes as her head made sharp contact with the stone, and for a moment she was completely disoriented; up was down, down was up, and the world was tilting. Or was it just her? Rough hands grabbed at her arms suddenly, turning her around and shoving her, hard, against the wall so that her cheek was pressed against cold brick. Both of her arms were held tightly behind her back, and she tried twisting her neck around to see who was holding her, but the effort was futile; it was too dark and it was too extreme of an angle.

The world froze. It was strange; part of her was terrified, but another part was totally serene. She knew she should be freaking out, that she should be struggling with all her might to escape, but for some reason she really wasn't that afraid. Maybe it was the redundancy of the situation, or maybe she was just getting better at handling these things.

"Marco knew you hadn't left the city," a harsh voice whispered at the back of her neck. "He told us to keep an eye out for you." He pressed her harder against the wall, his face so close to her ear she could feel the prickling of his stubble against her skin. "He'll be so pleased when I bring him your dead body."

"Andretti will want me alive, not dead," she answered coldly, still feeling shockingly calm. Maybe numb would be a better word for it, but she didn't feel the heart pumping adrenaline coursing through her veins like she had the last two times.

"Shut up!" the man snarled, slamming her harder into the wall. She felt something sharp prick at the back of her neck, and an involuntary shudder run through her body. "Marco doesn't give a shit about you. I'm going to-"

But what exactly he planned on doing, Gwen never found out (though she could guess). He had stopped abruptly, mid sentence, and after a brief silence Gwen felt his hold on her slacken. Energy suddenly pouring back into her, Gwen pushed off the wall, and to her surprise the man stumbled backwards, dropping to his knees before finally collapsing altogether, face-first, on the sidewalk. Gwen stared at his limp form, eyes wide and confused as she stood there, unable to move. It was the clicking of heels that finally caused her to snap her gaze back up.

The lithe figure of a woman was walking towards her, swathed in a strapless red satin gown that hugged her gentle curves and then split at the knee to expose her slender legs. Her black hair was left loose without any ornamentation, and the iron grey eyes that peeked out from behind a few stray strands of hair were completely unreadable. A gun was clutched in her right hand as she walked right up to the guy and pulled his shoulder out of the way, exposing a dart sticking out of his neck. She yanked it out and moved back to the street, tossing it in the drain gutter before finally turning her attention to Gwen.

Surprisingly enough the woman smiled, an action Gwen wouldn't have been able to manage even if she had wanted to. "Hi, Gwen," the woman said, her words almost kind. "My name is Salem, but you might know me better as Sophia."

---------------------------

"How long has it been?" Murphy asked his brother. Both were sitting at either end of the couch, pretending to watch what was flicking across the television. At the question, Connor turned to look at Murphy and shrugged.

"Not five minutes," he answered, seeming completely calm save for the stiffness in his shoulders. That had always been the way things were; Murphy would fidget, tap his foot, or chew on his nail when anxious, and Connor would simply sit statue still, totally immobile as though he had been petrified.

"Do ya think we made a mistake, lettin' her go by herself?"

Again, Connor just shrugged, turning to stare at the commercial flashing on the TV screen. "We didn't have much of a choice, Murph. We can't hold her fuckin' hostage."

"I just have a feelin'," Murphy continued, watching his brother instead of the TV. He noticed a flicker of worry cross Connor's eyes, along with the very brief furrowing of his brow.

"Aye, myself as well."

"Maybe we should go look for her," Murphy suggested, his foot tapping about a mile a minute.

"We'll give her a couple more minutes, like we said we would. And then we'll go lookin' for her."

Murphy sighed, knowing his brother was right. He still couldn't shake the intuitive feeling that something was happening, though, and it made him restless. Running a hand across his dark hair, he leaned his head back against the couch, forcing himself to try and sit still. There had been something in the way Gwen had acted all afternoon, ever since they had started the walk home from McGinty's, that had set him on alert. Both of them had noticed the difference in her, and although neither knew what the fuck had happened, they knew it couldn't have been good. And now she had run off by her fucking self? Aside from the typical dangers of a run-down Irish neighborhood, there were those fucking mafia bastards to think of. The chances of them finding her here _were_ slim, but there was always a chance.

Chewing nervously on his thumb, Murphy cast another glance at his brother, watching him stare unseeingly at the television screen. He was just as fucking worried as he was.

Fuck it.

Standing up, Murphy grabbed his jacket off one of the chairs and started pulling it on, ignoring the look he was getting from his brother. He pulled the gun out of the pocket and checked to make sure it was loaded before slipping it back in. If there was one thing he learned from being a Saint, it was that you should always, _always_ trust your instincts.

"Where the fuck are ya goin'?" Connor asked finally when Murphy refused to look at him.

"Where the fuck does it look like I'm goin'?" Murphy shot back.

"Murph-"

"It's almost been five fucking minutes, Connor! Jesus fucking Christ!"

Connor sighed, running a hand over his face as he stood up and grabbed his own jacket. "Fine, but I'm coming with you."

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**((AN- Okay, another ridiculously late update. School is out in like three weeks, and then I'll be updating lots more, I hope. This chapter is short, I know, but I'm hoping the excitement made up for it! Thank you ALL for the wonderful reviews! I hope, Nyah, that this is an acceptable "higher level." And betty? You made my day! Also, upon scanning over some "Da" sequences, I think I agree. He should be a bit gruffer, so I'mma try and add that in more. Again, thanks to ALL my reviewers for your words of compliment and critique! I truly appreciate it!))**


	11. Chapter 11

Sophia. _This_ was Sophia. Somehow she found that one thought impossible to grasp, no matter how many times she repeated it in her head. Even with the woman standing there, head tilted somewhat with an amused smile on her face, it was almost impossible to believe.

"_You're_ Sophia," Gwen said, finally getting her voice back, albeit the initial shock continued to linger.

"Yes," the woman answered, crossing her arms across her chest and rubbing her arms. Gwen realized she had to be freezing.

"But…. How…? What…? Who…?" The questions issued forth without her being able to finish them, and finally Gwen had to rub a hand over her face and squeeze her eyes shut. Sighing, she tried again. "How did all of this happen?"

Salem tilted her head somewhat, eyeing Gwen impassively. "I'm sorry, I'm but I'm busy tonight. Perhaps another time." With a smirk, she slid the dart gun into her purse and turned to go.

"Wait!" Gwen cried, following after her. "You can't just leave!"

A light laugh parted from Salem's lips, her smile thoroughly entertained. "I'm afraid I have to. Don't worry, though. I'll be back." She winked at her, slinging the strap of her black purse over her shoulder as she clicked her way down the street.

"Gwen? Gwen!"

The sound of her name being called diverted Gwen's attention from Salem's retreating back, and the realization that she had taken long past five minutes hit her just about the same time she figured out it was Murphy calling her name. "Murphy, Connor!" she shouted back, eyes widening as she turned and stepped further out onto the sidewalk to search them out.

"Gwen!"

It was Connor this time, and Gwen finally managed to spot the two brother's silhouettes making their way quickly down the street. "Hey! It's alright, I'm fine!" she called, waving a hand to catch their attention. The pair of them was beside her in a matter of seconds.

"Where the fuck have ya been?" Murphy asked, resting a hand on either of her shoulders and scanning her face.

"And who the fuck is that?"

At Connor's question, Murphy released his hold on Gwen and followed his brother's gaze to the limp body half hidden in the shadows next to the building's wall. Gwen didn't answer; she was too wrapped up in her own thoughts and hardly even heard the question as she tried to find the retreating form of the woman she had been talking to. Of course, she had already disappeared, causing Gwen to sigh.

"What the fuck happened?" Murphy asked, and when Gwen still didn't answer he grabbed her shoulder, shaking her lightly. It was enough to bring her out of the trance-like stare.

"What?" she asked, blinking and looking from Murphy's scowl to Connor's frown. "Oh, I don't think he's dead. He got shot with a dart."

"What?!?!" The question was exclaimed by both brothers at the exact same time.

"Let's get back to the apartment; I'll explain on the way."

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The walk back to the apartment actually had very little explanations. Gwen's head was swimming with possibilities, and it was beginning to get difficult to sort through her thoughts. Connor and Murphy were patient and didn't nag at her as they arrived back at the apartment, but once they were inside, they both removed their jackets and then sat side by side at the kitchen table, staring at her. Gwen knew they expected her to sit with them, and so, after taking off her own coat, she sank uneasily into one of the empty chairs around the table.

"I hardly know where to start," she said when neither of them spoke. Murphy sighed and got up from the table, making his way to the fridge where he pulled out three beers. As he returned and set one down in front of each of them, Connor lit up two cigarettes, passing one to his brother as he sat down. Gwen watched them take a few puffs before breaking down. "Can I have one?" she asked, paying much more attention to the task of popping open her beer than was needed.

"You smoke, Angel?" Murphy asked, looking surprised.

"Sometimes," she admitted as Connor lit one up and handed it over. She took a few puffs, breathing deeply and trying to still her flying mind. "I was attacked again." The four simple words caused the twins to exchange dark glances, but both remained silent, waiting for her to continue.

"He asked me about the package, again, and had a knife to the back of my neck." She watched both boys stiffen noticeably. Now was where the tricky part began. Gwen didn't know how to explain Salem and what had happened; hell, she hardly understood it herself.

"How did ya get him on the ground, Angel?" Murphy asked softly, and she blinked, suddenly aware of how acutely he and his brother were staring at her.

"Oh, _I_ didn't. He just suddenly fell over, and there was this woman. She shot him with a dart gun."

It was clear by the looks on both of their faces that they almost didn't believe her. Murphy's face smoothed out in utter shock, his lips parting somewhat in surprise; Connor's face, on the other hand, scrunched up, a frown puckering his lips and furrowing his brow.

"She said she was Sophia-"

"Wait, Sophia? The one-"

"Yes," Gwen interrupted Connor, flicking ash into one of the trays. "I don't know anything else, though, she left right before you got there."

"You didn't ask her anythin'? Anythin' about what's been happenin'?" Murphy asked, sounding shocked.

"I didn't have time! She just left- said something about being busy. She was dressed in an evening gown-"

"So, a woman dressed in an evening gown with a dart gun just saved your life and left?" Connor asked, scratching his ear and frowning.

"Yes, basically," Gwen confirmed snippily, tilting her chin up defiantly. She was tired of feeling like a kid being forced to explain everything to her parents. "Look, she said she'd be back, but other than that I don't know jack, alright?" It wasn't her intent to snap at them, but from their taken aback looks she realized her tone must have been much more singeing than she had meant it. The whole thing made her even more frustrated.

"Well," Murphy began slowly after the terse silence, "at least we know there really is a Sophia."

"Blagh, how does that manage to open up a whole new can of questions?!" Gwen muttered, her tone full of exasperation as she rested her forehead on top of her folded hands resting on the table.

"It'll be alright, Gwennie. We can figure it out," Connor said gently, crushing his empty beer can and chucking it in the can behind him.

"You can bet your ass we will," Murphy affirmed, tapping his forefinger on the table top with force. Despite the frustration and utter vexation of the entire situation, Gwen couldn't help but crack a smile.

She heaved a sigh, rubbing a hand over her face and blinking hard in an attempt to refresh her mind. "We should probably tell Da and Smecker about this- about Sophia. Maybe Smecker can find more information on her. Oh!" Gwen's features brightened. "She said her name is Salem- her real name is Salem."

"Salem?" Connor repeated unfamiliarly, like he was tasting the new name.

"Yeah. I guess Sophia was just the name she gave to the mafia," Gwen said, shrugging.

"Aye, makes sense," Murphy agreed with a nod, putting out his cigarette in the ash tray.

"Maybe Smecker can find somethin' on her, 's'well," Connor put in, itching at his forehead with the thumb of the hand holding his cigarette.

"That's what I was thinking." Gwen nodded, watching as Connor slowly leaned forward to put out his own cigarette out. She still had a few puffs left in hers, and after flicking the ash off the end, she took a quick drag. "Did Da go to bed already?"

"Aye," Connor said with a quick nod. "Early ta bed, early ta rise, all that shit." He waved his hand around vaguely. "I think," he added, standing up and stretching, "I'll do the same."

It seemed like the signal for everyone to get moving. Gwen snuffed her cigarette out, and Murphy threw their empty beer cans away. Connor and his brother exchanged a few words before the former shuffled out into the hallway leading to the twins' bedroom. That left Murphy standing next to the couch, scratching the back of his head awkwardly as he glanced over at Gwen.

"D'ya mind if I stay up with ya a bit, Angel?" he asked with a boyish grin. "I'm not exactly tired."

"Not really. I'm not tired either," Gwen answered, moving over to stand next to him. "Just lemme go shower and brush my teeth. Try and find something on TV we can watch." Smiling, she moved over to her suitcases, grabbed her pajamas and toothbrush, and disappeared down the hall.

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Gwen emerged from the bathroom thirty minutes later, her hair only slightly damp after a rigorous towling (she didn't want to risk waking anyone with the noisy howl of the hair dryer). She felt clean and much more at ease, as though the hot water had done more than just wash away the day's dirt. Although there were many questions still simmering beneath the layer of content, her mind was no longer flying away at a hundred miles a minute.

Clothes gathered up in her arms, Gwen entered the living room to find Murphy sprawled lazily on the couch, watching some cheesy McDonalds add flash across the television. He looked up as she made her way over to her suitcase and grinned.

"'Bout fuckin' time ya finish," he complained good-naturedly; Gwen nevertheless narrowed her eyes, her own irritation about as genuine (or not) as his.

"Thirty minutes for a girl to shower, dry her hair, and brush her teeth is not that long, you know. Especially since I stood under the hot water for a few minutes." She raised her eyebrows coolly, depositing her clothes from the day in the bag she used as a laundry basket before joining Murphy on the couch. "I hope it was long enough to find something good on TV." She produced a comb with criss-cross bristles and began working it through her semi-wet hair, removing stubborn tangles and such. Murphy watched her for a few minutes as though such an act was very peculiar before he shook his head.

"Nothin' but info-mercials and other boring shit on," he said, standing up and moving into the kitchen. Gwen twisted her neck to watch him, figuring he meant to grab a beer and probably light up another cigarette; such a thing seemed to be a very frequent habit amongst the MacManus men. He surprised her by opening a cabinet instead, pulling out a half-full bottle of whiskey.

"There's got to be at least one stupid movie on," Gwen commented, turning back to face the TV as she snatched up the remote and began flipping channels.

"Well there's nothin' that a little bit o'whiskey can't make interestin', aye?" he said, plopping back down on his end of the couch with a rogue (and very Irish) grin.

"Really Murphy?" Gwen queried, the question more an accusation. When he continued to look at her with that "Yeah, so what?" sort of expression, Gwen heaved a sigh, turning her eyes back to the screen as she continued channel surfing. "You would want to get drunk just because there's nothing else to do," she commented with wry amusement. Her statement elicited a very pleased grin from Murphy, who shrugged off any hint of insult her words might have carried.

"Makes everythin' that much more interestin', Angel."

"Pah, you probably have ulterior motives," Gwen muttered back, completely teasing.

"Ulterior motives?" Murphy repeated, sounding as though he didn't quite get her point. It casued Gwen to snicker a bit, shaking her head as she continued watching the screen switch stations.

"Taking advantage of an intoxicated individual could be considered an ulterior motive," she elaborated, grinning.

"I'm a fucking Saint, I don't have ulterior motives."

Gwen shook her head. "You're also a guy," she pointed out, finding a station airing Grease. "Haha! A movie." A smug smile tugged at her lips as she turned to give Murphy a haughty look.

"What's that supposed ta mean?" he asked, causing Gwen's smirk to flip into a scowl.

"It means there's a movie on, genius," she said sarcastically, and Murphy matched her expression. "Heh, nothing, Murph, I was just joking."

"Riiight," Murphy responded dryly. Gwen shook her head, turning her attention to the TV screen as Murphy poured more than a shot's worth of whiskey into his mouth. This brought her attention back to the Irishman, and she gaped at him a moment, looking shocked.

"Jesus Christ, you're not playing around, are you?"

"What?" Murphy asked, sounding confused.

"Do you even _have_ a liver?"

"Ya want some?" He offered her the bottle. Gwen took it, staring at the label for a minute with an unenthusiastic expression. Then, shrugging, she lifted it to her lips and took a small sip, the liquor instantly burning her throat as it slid into her stomach; she couldn't help but make a face, her nose wrinkling as she swallowed several times to try and get the taste out of her mouth.

"Ugh, no wonder I don't drink whiskey," she muttered, handing him back the bottle.

"Some bartender you are, Angel," Murphy laughed. Feeling snubbed, Gwen flushed a bit and scowled at him indignantly, her wounded pride only making Murphy laugh some more. Straightening haughtily, Gwen turned back to the TV and crossed her arms across her chest, ignoring the large grin on Murphy's face. Finally she broke down, a small smile tugging at her lips as she turned to look at him.

"Oh shut up."

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((Again, waaaay too long between updates. The last few weeks of school were MURDER. But now I'm out on Summer vacation, so I should be able to update more. I finally got past a nasty case of writer's block in a later part of the story, but I need to pull some loose ends together and add some spice. At any rate, I hope this chapter is satisfactory. I don't like it much myself, I think it's a bit dry, but I didn't want to keep you waiting any longer. As a side note, I don't know why Gwen doesn't like whiskey. It happens to be my favorite liquor, and I encourage all you alcohol drinkers to try a Crown and Coke with a splash of Grenadine. LoL, thanks for all the fantastic reviews, by the way. Any helpful hints or suggestions are most welcome. I'm desperately trying to work Da in more, so if you have a good notion how I can do so, message me! Chocolate kisses to you all!))


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